Coffee Shop Cliche
by eb4life
Summary: A barista and a marathon runner cross paths at a local coffee shop and sparks fly- at least for our runner. What will happen as these two get closer and begin to realize that each other's dark pasts may be more intertwined than they expected? Shameless cliches and (mostly) fluff all around!
1. James Taylor and Kaleidoscope Eyes

**AN:**

 **I do not own Yuri! On Ice.**

 **I guess my goal is to cover every cliché in the book because here you are: the coffee shop cliché. I don't know why we're all obsessed with coffee shops, misunderstandings that lead to angst and college romances, but those are the three biggest clichés that can be found in almost every fandom I'm obsessed with involved in.**

 **As usual, I have no idea were I'm going with this. I'll update roughly every other week and, for anyone like me who gets mortally offended when someone posts late without notice (I have high standards. Sue me), I'll give heads up when I'll be posting late.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

 **Chapter 1: James Taylor and Kaleidoscope Eyes**

When I first saw him, it was like a revelation. Like everything had been blurry your entire life, only you hadn't noticed until he came around and it all snapped into focus. It was like being used to the dreary grey sky and not knowing anything different, until he came and turned the sky bright blue. It was like being pulled by a tether as strong as iron wrapped around your waist that tugs and tugs and tugs until you go where it wants you to, which is straight into his arms. It was like your mind buzzing with a million quicksilver thoughts zipping like fireflies through your mind during a 3 a.m. caffeine-induced study cram where it seems like colours are so bright they dazzle you and the world is so _big_ that—

And those _eyes_. Don't get me _started_ on his _eyes_ …

His kaleidoscope eyes that seem so dreamy and far off, like he lives in a nonexistent, magical realm that's worlds away from me. It's like no matter how hard I try, I can't reach him because he sees lamp light and thinks stars, he sees dew drops and thinks monsoon, he sees child and thinks humanity. His eyes transform his surroundings until they match his own relentless ingenuity, his colourful imagination, his bright creativity.

But, regardless of his scintillating mind, he is damaged. I didn't realize this at first, but this changes nothing. Especially when I myself am just as, if not more, damaged than he. He has clipped wings like clipped shoe laces, too short and scrappy to be functional. He bleeds emotion freer than the ocean waves as they crash unforgivingly on the shore, no matter how the sand pleads for relief. Regardless of his pain, he possesses a spine-chilling power and an aura like a storm cloud, breathing electric fire and tasting of rain. Despite his ominous strength, he has the grace of a wilting flower pounded down by wind, but still dancing nonetheless, slightly limp and weak.

He is effervescent. He is prepossessing. He is bewildering. He is—

 _Dearlordhe'slookingatme_

I snapped out of my dazed fog, sending daydreams flittering away like that last beams of moonlight at dawn. In my sudden rush back to reality, I found myself hacking and coughing roughly as a lovely epiglottis malfunction welcomed me back to the cold, harsh world.

"O мой Бог!" shocked by the exclamation of what sounded to me like gibberish. I looked up and blinked rapidly with watering eyes, finding myself staring up into _really_ bright arctic blue eyes.

It was a really nice blue.

"… huh?" I asked eloquently, still blinking rapidly. That's when I realized that, yes, the eyes also had a face. A very nice face. A very concerned looking, nice face.

"Are you okay?" and _ohmygod_ the face's voice was like _honey_. Beautiful enough to stop my coughing fit. I stared up at the nice, concerned face with its honey voice and its bright blue eyes before realizing that I was expected to respond to what the voice said.

"I— uh, yeah, sorry." I croaked, letting out one last meek cough into the crook of my elbow. "Sorry." I muttered again, gazing at the floor, embarrassed.

"Don't apologize, please! Are you sure you're okay? Can I get you some water or something?" I looked up to respond and almost had another coughing fit. The new barista at my local coffee shop was a model. He _had_ to be.

His skin was pale with virtually no blemishes and he was nibbling his pink bottom lip distractingly. His hair, which was so light it looked silver, was parted to one side and made me want to test whether it was as soft as it looked or not. Under the café issued apron, he wore a plain white collared shirt and dark jeans, a simple outfit that looked runway ready on him.

"Wha— oh! No, I'm fine. Sorry about that," I laughed nervously, finally tearing my gaze away from the new barista long enough to respond to his thoughtful question. I dragged a hand through my hair and tried to focus.

"If… if you're sure… could I take your order, then?" the tall man before me, his icy blue eyes staring right through my soul with a slight gleam of suspicion. They were kaleidoscope eyes. They were bright blue but had flecks of grey, and darker blue and random colours like a rainbow of geometric shapes—

His eyes were rainbow kaleidoscopes. I was officially losing it.

"Sir…?" the barista hinted timidly. That was when I realized I was leaning on my elbows against the counter, chin propped up in my hands, probably glaze-eyed and drooling.

"Wha— uh, yeah, I…. uh…" I glanced up in a panic, suddenly forgetting what I'd been ordering for the past five years or so. I was glad to find a handwritten chalkboard sign hanging from the ceiling above the barista's head. "I'll have the, uh… can I get a mocha?"

"What size? And is that hot or cold? Is whipped cream okay? How much espresso would you like?" the barista shot off questions rapid fire like he was quizzing me for an exam. I stared at him, dumbfounded, realizing I clearly hadn't planned my order well enough.

"Large, I guess…. Um, hot," I blushed looking away from the barista.

"Whipped cream?" he prompted, unphased or simply oblivious.

"When is whipped cream not okay?" I scoffed, earning a deep chuckle. I glanced up at him, in awe of the music his laughter made. I was glad I looked up, because I caught a glimpse of the rose petal blush spreading across his cheekbones—

 _Chiseled cheekbones_ , my mind purred. I felt my face warm and I coughed into my elbow again.

"You, ah… have a lot of questions," I managed dumbly. Really? You have a lot of questions? That's what you're going with? If I had a 2X4, I'd smack myself with it.

"Sorry," the barista rubbed the back of his head sheepishly with a crooked grin that I couldn't help but return.

 _Cute_ , crooked grin, my mind corrected. I pinched myself through the thick material of my jeans.

"It's my first day and I've been memorizing the menu and all the questions I have to ask for each order. I'm so worried I'll forget something that I keep listing questions too quickly…" So much for "and aura like a storm cloud." He was more like an awkward ball of sunshine and dandelion fluff, once he opened his mouth.

"I totally understand," I gushed with way too much feeling as I leaned forward against the counter.

"You do?" the barista cocked his head like a puppy.

"Well, sure! First day on the job is always stressful!"

"Thanks for understanding," he said, sounding honestly relieved. "A lot of people aren't as… kind this early in the morning." His grin sent butterflies fluttering through my stomach. "Anyways, the last question was about how much espresso you wan—"

"All of it," I blurted out without thinking. "I want all the espresso." All the espresso. _All_ the _espresso_? Really? Can a black hole split the walls of reality apart, suck me into it and—

"Um… how much exactly is… _all_ the espresso—"

"Ah, Yuri!" a familiar voice interrupted the confused barista and my mortal embarrassment. Both of us turned to see a jolly man coming out of the employees only room.

"Toshiya!" I exclaimed with a grin, feeling much more at ease with the presence of my sort-of adopted-father. Toshiya, the owner of the coffee shop, and I went a long way back. I'd been a regular for a good five years and, while I don't go out often, I usually make an exception to visit the shop. The first time we met, I had come into the shop in search of refuge.

I remember it was pouring and I bolted into the shop, slammed the door behind me and raced across the room, ducking behind the counter. Toshiya had been dealing with a customer and basically played it off like I was a relative of his so the customers wouldn't freak out. He let me hide behind the counter until closing, when he brought me a mocha full of espresso. He sat us down next to each other in the window seat by the huge bay window and proceeded to question me about who I was, where I was going, why I was here and where I'd been. After hearing my story, he must have felt a lot of pity, because he took me in and the shop became my favourite place, other than hiding out in my home.

"Good morning, Yuri, I haven't seen you in a while. Are you doing well?" Toshiya asked, clasping my hand with a firm grip across the counter. His hands were huge and warm, covered with callouses and scars from years and years of work. They were very kind hands.

"I'm just fine," I assured him, ignoring his skeptical eye. I felt my racing heart and scatter-brained mind slow in Toshiya's presence, despite the watchful eye he had on me. "Are you well?" I asked before he could demand to know every detail of what I'd been doing while I was away for so long.

"Oh, don't you worry about me," he scolded lightly. "I'm holding up well. Especially now that we're getting some young folk around here," Toshiya clapped the barista on the shoulder for emphasis. "I see you met our newest edition, Victor. What a lovely boy he is, I expect he'll bring in a lot of customers." He said with a knowing lilt in his voice. I blushed, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Oh, yes." I turned to Victor. "I'm Yuri, nice to meet you." I stammered awkwardly. Victor slowly reached a hand across the counter as if he didn't really want to touch me but felt obligated to. Belatedly I reached up, grasping his slim, cool hand in mine.

"Likewise," Victor stated almost flatly. I couldn't get a read on this guy. One second, he's grinning and bumbling like a precious cinnamon roll and the next he's acting like he'd rather be anywhere but here. Taking his hand back, Victor ran his fingers through his silvery hair, looking back at the order screen on the computer.

"Well, I'll let you get back to taking Yuri's order," Toshiya said with a sweet smile. "Just holler if you need anything." He turned to head back into the backroom.

"Um, could you repeat how much espresso you'd like?" Victor asked in an unsure, but patient voice. I grinned timidly, cursing my awkwardness to the darkest pits of Hades' realm.

"Ah, yes. Yuri and his espresso," Toshiya said with a chuckle over his shoulder.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I pouted.

"Put him down for as much as the machine lets you," Toshiya instructed Victor, ignoring me. "I believe it allows 20 shots maximum, but actually put in 40." Victor's jaw dropped, and he turned back from Toshiya to face me.

"You put 40 shots of espresso in your mochas?" He asked incredulously.

"No, the baristas do," I corrected cheekily on reflex. "Er, I mean, yes. I choose espresso and coffee over sleep." Victor stared at me with a look of… was that fear? He visibly shook himself and began punching things into the machine, while I watched his graceful hands at work, until he turned around to make my drink. Scrunching my nose irritably as my view was cut off, I began to gaze around the shop while I waited.

The machines gurgled softly in a comforting way and the sweet strains of bird songs floated in through tall, open windows, bringing with them the fresh air and a musky floral scent from the window box flowers. Mismatched armchairs dotted around the café with tables of different sizes and colours thrown in between and the walls were decorated with paintings done by local artists. It was a very cozy room, even as empty as it was now.

Turning back to the counter, my gaze honed in on Victor as he danced back and forth between a few of the many humming machines that lined the back wall. He was singing along softly to the song that filtered softly over the radio through the speakers, his voice barely any louder than a whisper.

 _How sweet it is to be loved by you_

 _How sweet it is to be loved by you_

 _I needed the shelter of someone's arms and there you were_

 _I needed someone to understand my ups and downs and there you were_

I swallowed hard, feeling something heavy swell in my chest. Clenching my jaw, I attempted to distract myself by watching Victor, which was not at all very hard to do. I found myself immediately hypnotized with the swing of his hips as he swayed to James Taylor's mellow voice. It was tantalizing. Utterly, absolutely, 100%, max-distraction tantalizing. And it didn't help that he was wearing skinny jeans. _Skinny_ _jeans_. As in "so skinny, a monk would tap that."

"Here you are, Sir. One large mocha, 40 shots of espresso, with whipped cream," Victor rattled off smoothly, interrupting my thoughts. I felt something stir in my gut at his deep, newly confident voice. I pinched myself through my thick jeans.

"Th-thanks," I squeaked at him without looking him in the eye. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket, relaxing at the familiar feel of the aged, yet strong leather. I flipped it open and handed over a few bills, mumbling that he could keep the change. Victor grinned like a child on Christmas and thanked me fervently as I stuffed the wallet back in the pocket of my blue track jacket.

I shuffled through the café, mumbling a quick farewell over my shoulder without pausing to receive one in return. I pushed the narrow wooden door open and stood under the alcove for a moment to collect myself. For some reason, I felt thrown off— distracted and confused, as if gravity had shifted and up was down. I blew on my coffee to cool the burning liquid that was probably stronger than vodka.

It looked like I was going to be getting coffee a lot more often now.

 **AN:**

 **There you have it! Did you like it? Let me know what you think and feel free to suggest ideas or directions you want me to take with this.**

 **All rights for the song lyrics go to the lovely James Taylor and his song "How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)."**

 **This is dedicated someone who's very important to me that shares (or at one point shared) half of James Taylor with me. This person had a recent brush with death, and is recovering slowly but steadily. While said person won't ever know about or read this story, I still wanted to write it for them. This is for you, buddy, wherever you are.**


	2. Phone Numbers and Dreams to Stay

**AN:**

 **Welcome back!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri! On Ice**

 **I'm having a lot of fun with this story, which is a little unnerving because I read somewhere that the more fun a story is to read or write by the author, the more boring and hard to read it is to the readers…**

 **Chapter 2: Phone Numbers and Dreams to Stay**

Victor glanced casually down the counter at his new boss while he wiped up a small puddle on the counter. A rushed and clumsy business woman in a frighteningly short pencil skirt left it behind on Victor's once pristine and shining counter, and it _irked_ him. He was trying _really_ hard with this job. _Really_ hard. At other jobs, he would clean (albeit a bit half-heartedly), but at this job he was going to _cleannn_. Everything was going to be in its place _at all times_ , everything was going to be so clean it _sparkled_ , and every customer was going to leave with a perfectly made order and a smiling face _if it killed him_.

He was very passionate about this.

Part of the reason that he was so empowered to be the model employee was because he wanted to keep this job. Victor had bounced around between places of work and living for the past few years like a troublesome, misunderstood foster kid who just needed love and maybe some more sleep. He never really liked any place he stayed at, and nothing ever felt like living. It was like surviving, making it day to day, paycheck to paycheck, bussing tables and sucking up to customers for tips, hunting down coins in the laundromat with aching, blistered fingers— that wasn't living. He wasn't enjoying life— he didn't have _time_ to enjoy life. He'd forgotten what his hobbies were, who is friends were, what it was like to _sleep_. What is was like to smile.

He worked at a few fast food places and contemplated sticking his head in the fryer daily. He worked as a waiter more often, and had to restrain himself from pouring the complimentary pitchers of water all over half the customers' heads. He worked retail, where he restrained himself from hulking out and throwing the cash register at his boss' face.

And now he had a job at a cute, successful coffee place where the customers were friendly and the boss was understanding. A fresh breeze danced through the shop all day, the list of drinks wasn't the longest he'd had to memorize, and the place wasn't two bus rides and a two mile walk from his apartment.

Speaking of his apartment, that wasn't bad either. He'd stayed at some pretty dank places. Dirty motels, moldy rooms on rent, the floor of random co-workers' homes (talk about the real MVP. Anyone who lets a co-worker they've known for a single day live with them is an angel sent from the homeless gods). He slept in his work places (illegal? Yes) and in vehicles. Or under park benches. Behind garbage cans.

He'd dealt with electricity snapping off in the middle of the night and the water crapping out. He dealt with neighbors who shouted so loud that the walls would shake, and everything on the tables and shelves would come crashing to the floor. He dealt with sketchy staff that would follow him around or steal his stuff, and neighborhoods dangerous enough that he felt nervous trekking through the streets even in the light of day.

And now he had a sanitary apartment that was a little plain, but livable. It had functioning windows, doors that could lock, a polite staff, and wifi that was achievable without standing on stacks of books and furniture. It was in a small town— but it was safe. There weren't gangs on every corner sharing drugs, or children disappearing by the dozen each week and the crime rate was relatively low. Also, the cops actually showed up the patrol the streets, which Victor appreciated immensely (he made a point to introduce himself to the first parked cop he saw and asked all sorts of soccer-mom "is my little Johnny going to be safe in this here town, Mr. Cop, Sir" questions).

He liked this safe and actually quite nice place. He wanted to stay. He really, really, really wanted to stay. And if he wanted to stay in the town, in the apartment, in the job— then he had to be _freaking perfect_. No excuses, no sick days, no mistakes. Perfection.

Victor shook his head at his rambling mind and tossed the now stained rag into a bucket of cleaner under the counter. He leaned against the glossy counter, tapping his fingers in a rhythmless beat against the mahogany surface. Rocking distractedly back and forth on his heels, he sent another quick look at his boss and bit his lip anxiously.

His boss, Toshiya, was busy unhooking empty bags of drink mix in the cabinet below smoothie machine, so he could clean the tubes that descended to hook to the bags. The shop owner sat on the floor, arching backwards into the cabinet so he could clean, looking almost like he was fixing the underside of a car. Victor began glancing back and forth between the shop door and Toshiya.

"Victor, do you need something?" came Toshiya's amused voice. Victor's eyes widened. He casually leaned against the counter and shot a charming grin to the shop owner, trying to pull off the CoolRelaxed&ConfidentLook **.**

"No, not at all—"

" _Victor_." Toshiya's no-nonsense tone was hard to deny.

"Okay, fine." Victor muttered, dropping the façade. He ambled over to Toshiya and awkwardly stood in front of the man whose whole torso was now inside a smoothie machine. He stood awkwardly for a moment, struggling with wording and whether or not he should he really ask this and what will Toshiya think and—

"I can hear you breathi—"

"So, Yuri." Victor blurted eloquently. Toshiya snorted from inside the machine and Victor crossed his arms self-consciously, glaring at his boss' legs (which were the only part of him visible).

"What about Yuri?" Victor gritted his teeth at the light, condescending tone but knew that it was all good fun. Toshiya liked to tease his coworkers, but it was no worse than a poking comment from a friend or a brother.

"Is he…" Victor swallowed hard and cleared his throat, fiddling with the hem of his apron. Toshiya crawled out of the smoothie machine and closed the double doors of the cabinet. He took one look at Victor and smiled kindly, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"Let's close up and have a chat," he offered sincerely. Victor frowned in confusion at this. He glanced out the tall windows of the dining area and was shocked to see that it was pitch black outside. The air wafting in through the open windows was cool and smelled of the musk of night time. Victor had worked from the crack of dawn until midnight and he hadn't even noticed. Wasn't his break only, like, a few hours ago?

Time flies fast when you're not counting the ways to kill people on the job.

Following boss' orders, Victor began closing up shop. He edged around the counter and walked to the heavy oak door, pulling it shut and flinching delicately when it slammed loudly. He carefully locked it, so outsiders couldn't get in, but anyone inside the shop could get out and, once he was satisfied that he had locked it correctly, he turned around. And there was Toshiya smiling like a kind and understanding grandpa while holding two steaming mugs.

Toshiya eased into a tasteful patchwork chair made from blue, grey and white scraps of cloth and gestured to the chair beside his. Victor sat stiffly in a hand painted chair with images of an ocean scene done by a local college student. Toshiya grinned at Victor over a small vase of flowers on the aged table between them and sipped from his tie-dye mug.

"Now, what about Yuri did you want to talk about?" he finally asked with a knowing grin. Victor blushed, trying to find his voice.

"I'm just… curious." Victor mumbled quickly, grabbing his bright yellow smiley face mug. He sipped his drink to distract himself but had the feeling Toshiya saw right through him. Toshiya cocked his head with another understanding smile while Victor berated himself for using the word "curious" and screamed thunderously in his own mind for starting this conversation.

"I met Yuri when he was… seventeen, I believe," Toshiya began. Victor's interest piqued embarrassingly when he heard Yuri's name.

"Now, I can't tell you much about him, because most of it is his own story to tell," Toshiya warned. "But there are a few things I can still tell you. When we met, Yuri was very much a different person. He was scared… I think. He was clearly hurt and lost. It took a lot of coaching to help him get to where he is today."

"Where he is today?" Victor asked. Toshiya smiled sadly.

"He is able to smile." The man said simply. Victor had a sinking feeling about Yuri's past. "He can feel sad and know it will pass," Toshiya continued, brow furrowed as he continued to think of ways to explain his close friend's situation.

"He can panic and compose himself. He has connections, friends, people he can count on, people who love him. It took a lot to get him to where he is, and I just don't want to see him falling back… relapsing, you could say." Toshiya finished, his tone filled with unspoken threat.

"I... I'm sorry, but I don't—" Victor stuttered, slightly thrown off and terrified by the dangerous gleam in his once grandfatherly boss' eye.

"I saw how you looked at him," Toshiya explained with wistful grin. "I saw how _he_ looked at _you_. I am an old man, but that doesn't mean I'm blind. Yet." Victor attempted a weak smile.

"What else can you tell me?" he begged. Toshiya laughed warmly at his enthusiasm.

"He is a very talented young man. Very athletic and intelligent, too. He trains for marathons and runs them almost weekly. But, little known fact," Toshiya said, leaning in conspiratorially with a secretive grin. Victor felt himself hopefully grinning like a child about to be let in on a huge secret.

"He was once an _extremely_ popular and successful competitive ice skater."

 _ _Вот дерьмо__. Victor felt a thrill run through his body.

 _Ice_ _skating_.

"What was he like?" Victor blurted, eyes glowing and grin widening. "When he skated? On the ice, what was it like? Tell me, tell me, tellmetellme _everything_!" Toshiya laughed boisterously at Victor's enthusiasm.

"Yuri on ice… is _indescribable_." Toshiya said with the shining eyes of a proud father. "He was like a butterfly gracefully floating across the ice. He came alive and was bright like a firework going off against a black velvet sky. His routines were intricate and complicated, which was just how he liked them of course. He was a cute kid, so he wasn't taken seriously at first, but he eventually started believing in himself. He did this one specific routine that almost won him nationals— sorry, I'm rambling!" Toshiya said sheepishly, but Victor shook his head.

"Don't apologize, tell me!" he pleaded. Toshiya looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Actually, if you have such an interest in ice skating— in _Yuri_ and ice skating," Toshiya corrected with a twinkle in his eye. Victor blushed and nonchalantly sipped his coffee. "Why don't you ask him to share some of his old videos of his routines?"

Victor choked.

"I— wha— d-do you think he'd…" Victor trailed off, desperately trying to keep his childish hope at bay. Toshiya rolled his eyes.

"Have some confidence, child. He wants to get to know you, too." Victor felt his heart swell with those words. This morning he was a lonely, sad little single man and now, in the dim light of an awesome café he now worked at, he was fueled with hope and the knowledge that someone wanted to— wait a second. His brain stopped him.

Just because someone wanted to get to know him, didn't mean that they wanted to… hold hands and skip off into the sunset, or make daisy crowns for each other or whatever people did these days. Regardless, it was a start and his elated emotional side won the fight against his brain's logic side. Full of adrenaline and out of breath, Victor grinned widely.

"How— how do I… I mean, I don't have his number. I don't even know his last name to look him up…" Victor trailed off, wondering where he could find the nearest phonebook. Did people even use phonebooks anymo— oh wait. The internet. That's a thing. It has phone numbers.

Toshiya held up a finger in the universal "wait a second" sign. He pulled a napkin from the drawer of the table between their chairs, which immediately attracted Victor's attention as he didn't realize that there were napkins hidden inside the tables.

Toshiya bent over the napkin, pulled a pen from the pocket of his shirt and began scribbling across the napkin. Victor peered over the vase between them to see what Toshiya was writing, but the man smirked and hid his work with his free hand. When he was finished writing, Toshiya crumpled the napkin and dropped it to the floor.

Victor gave Toshiya a confused look and watched his superior stand up and walk nonchalantly to the counter, where he began cashing out the register like nothing had happened. Victor watched him for a moment, unsure of what he should do. Toshiya glanced up and, upon seeing Victor's lost expression, paused his work with the register and gave a faux sigh or exasperation.

"Victor," he admonished. Victor blinked, not following. "Didn't I tell you to sweep the dining area? Come on, boy! I can clearly see a napkin right under the table you're sitting at. Stop lazing around on the job and get to work! Honestly, what do I pay you for?" Toshiya exclaimed with a playful tone. Victor blinked.

"Oh…" he trailed off. " _Oh_ ," if Yuri's number just so happened to be written on a napkin that Victor found crumpled on the floor, he could call and play it off like he was calling to figure out if the phone number was meant to get to someone who might have dropped the napkin on accident and wanted it back— that's _so smart_. Victor completely underestimated his boss.

"Come back _no earlier_ than noon tomorrow," the older man demanded with a wagging finger while Victor chased down the napkin ball. "I know your type, boy. Work, work, work is all you do, and you smile through everything. That's not good for the heart, the mind or the soul. Get some rest, child!" he demanded, shooing his newest employee out of the door.

Victor protested weakly, but Toshiya kept firing back with the importance or rest and self-care. Eventually, Toshiya had managed to gently push Victor out of the café and into the arched alcove of stone outside the buildings entrance.

Once he was standing under the light of the elegant street lantern close to the cafe, Victor began unfolding the napkin. Flipping it right side up, he found the neat, swoopy lettering of Toshiya's practiced hand. The first words written were a name:

Katsuki Yuri. It was followed by a string of numbers that Victor could only assume was a phone number. Victor grinned, heart swooping and excitement thrilling through his veins yet again.

Katsuki Yuri.

 **AN:**

 **You know that part where Toshiya is talking about how Yuri skates, and he's like "Yuri on ice… is blahblahblah" part? Thought it was pretty clever, if I do say so myself. Also, how preciousss is Victor getting all excited about skating and Yuri and _OMGYuriskating_.**

 **Feel free to let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, what you hated, what you want to see— I'm all ears (or I guess eyes, in this case)!**


	3. Foreign Languages and Frustrated Tears

**AN:**

 **I'm baaaccckkkk!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri! On Ice.**

 **Happy 4th of July for all who live in the states! If you live elsewhere, happy whatever day of the week it is for you! Other than that, I don't have any meaningless babble for you guys today, so let's get on with it!**

 **Chapter 3: Foreign Languages and Frustrated Tears**

Yuri had been lying awake in bed since about two in the morning, thanks to his internal clock that made him tired but jittery in the afternoon, and wide awake but out of breath in the middle of night. It often woke him up before the crack of dawn, making him wide awake and unable to sink back into peaceful sleep.

And it wasn't like waking early made him any more productive. It actually had the opposite affect and just made him more likely to lay in doing nothing for longer. Like right now. He should be editing or writing (you know, his job) but, like right now, he would just gaze up at the ceiling fan as it spun hypnotically, or he'd watch as the fibres of his blanket dance like trees in the wind when he breathed.

Not bored, but not thoroughly entertained, he moved his gaze to the wall beside his bed, analyzing it's soft blue colour. He eyed the dark marks where tables have collided with wall, or keychains have scraped against paint. He catalogued every mark, remembering the incident that caused it and the very date it happened. He did this every day. He wasted almost full weeks away doing this.

Yuri sighed. He really needed to get up. He realized this, but he lacked the… motivation? Maybe that wasn't the right word. Maybe it was. Yuri's mind was far too muddled for him to understand his own mental babblings.

Yuri burrowed down into his blankets like a puppy seeking shelter. He didn't want to get up and face the day. He didn't want to do anything, especially if it involved getting out of bed. But staying in bed made him feel lazy, while the idea of doing things was sometimes just…

Yuri groaned deeply and threw his arm out across the bed irritably. Why couldn't he be a normal person who went to bed early and dragged himself out of bed to the sound of an alarm? Or, why couldn't he go to bed late and sleep in, and feel refreshed for a day of productive and necessary work—

The sudden shout of a cheerful dance beat had Yuri hitting the hardwood floor with a thud and a wordless yelp. Groaning, he rolled onto his back, aching to the bone from the surprisingly painful fall. He glared at the innocent phone as it sang and clattered across the bedside table like a wind-up toy.

"Okay, okay— shut up!" he demanded, scrabbling to his knees awkwardly. He hobbled to the table and grabbed the phone, quirking an eyebrow at the number displayed. It was from out of the country. It wasn't unusual for him to get international calls— well, at a time it wasn't unusual. But now…

The phone let out another earsplitting trill that had Yuri smashing the button to silence it. The moment his thumb hit the phone, Yuri realized his mistake. You see, the green button is the "yes I'd like to talk to this person" button. What Yuri wanted was the bright red, "heck no, I don't talk to strangers or literally anyone else" button. What he hit was the green "I have enough confidence in my communicative skills that I can talk—

"Hello?" a deep voice filtered through the speaker. Yuri stared at the phone as if he was holding a live wire. Crap. _Crapcrapcrapcrap_. He recognized that voice— he'd recognize that voice _anywhere_. It was the new barista person, the one with the _eyes—_

"Are you there?" the borderline sultry voice asked. Yuri panicked, kicking a stray shoe across the room with more strength than he ever had on the ice.

"Holy— what was that?" the voice asked when the shoe collided with the wall. Yuri felt his heart melt a little at the concerned tone. The barista with the eyes was worried about him. _Warm fuzzies_.

"Hello?" The barista— Victor, said again.

"Here!" Yuri blurted out, his voice cracking stupendously. "Uh— I mean, I'm here, I'm here. Hi." Yuri corrected lamely, silently screaming at his conversational skills.

"Okay, um, you probably don't remember me, I'm—" Victor began.

"Victor from the coffee shop." Yuri finished, purely on impulse. He clapped a hand to his mouth and made a low hiss of embarrassment.

"I… yeah. Yeah, that's right. You remember me?" Yuri's nerves tingled when he heard the smile in Victor's voice. He plopped down onto his bed before his trembling knees gave out.

"Well… Toshiya hasn't hired new people in years. You're kind of a big deal." Yuri praised whatever god that helped him come up with that, because saying "I could never forget the owner of those beautiful eyes" is _not_ what you say to a person who could totally be an axe murderer.

Honestly, Yuri didn't care if he was an axe murderer.

"Um… c-can I ask why you're calling?" Yuri asked timidly. Instead of an answer, he heard a yip and a snuffling sound from the other line. He held the phone away from his face and stared at the screen as if it would magically inform him of what had made the weird sounds. Then he heard a quiet voice through the speaker.

"Tихо, Пожалуйста, lyubov moya." Foreign words were crooned lovingly and quietly, as if the speaker was aiming his voice away from the phone. Yuri felt his body warm at the affectionate words that he couldn't understand.

"Sorry about that," Victor said, now speaking into the phone in a normal voice. "My dog is an attention hog."

"You have a dog!?" Yuri practically squealed. Victor let out a breathy chuckle before making an affirmative sound. "What kind? Is it a boy or girl? What's its name?"

"It's a boy… poodle?" Victor responded eventually.

"You don't sound very sure," Yuri grinned. The topic of dogs made him feel bolder. Or maybe it just distracted him, so he didn't worry about saying the wrong things or coming across as awkward.

"That's because I'm not," Victor muttered, sounding a bit embarrassed. "I adopted him a few days ago from a rescue shelter. They didn't know what he is, either. Apparently, most people looking to adopt didn't like how he looks— _I_ think he kind of looks like a chicken nugget—" Yuri snorted. This guy was comparing his adopted rescue dog to a chicken nugget. He was freaking perfect.

"Does your dog have a name?" Yuri asked.

"Well…" Victor trailed off. Yuri gasped.

"I was joking, please don't tell me your chicken nugget poodle doesn't have a name."

"… I won't tell you that my chicken nugget poodle doesn't—"

"Oh my—" Yuri smacked his palm down on his bedside table, making the lamp sitting on it rattle violently. " _Your dog doesn't have a name_?!" Victor let out a strangled gasp, accompanied by a thud.

"Are you okay? Did you just fall?" Yuri asked incredulously.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I just… ugh, I just fell off the couch." Victor admitted sheepishly. There was a ruffling sound as Victor resituated on his couch.

"I can hear you blushing." Yuri teased with a grin, feeling much more comfortable.

"I— that's… I'm not blushing!" Victor spluttered with a little too much gusto.

"Yes, you are." Yuri grinned, proud to have thrown Victor off his collected front.

"I'm not!" Victor exclaimed, voicing raising in pitch.

"Yes, you are."

"You're not even here, how can you tell I'm blushing?"

"I can hear you."

"How can you hear a blush?! That doesn't eve—"

"Victor." Yuri interrupted Victor's argument.

"Yeah?"

"I can hear you." Yuri announced with finality. "You have to name your dog."

"What should I name him? I speak English well, but I usually miss deeper meanings of words. Do you know any good words or names for a dog? And don't say 'chicken nugget.'" Yuri swallowed a nervous laugh.

"Actually, I speak English well, too, but it's not my first language either. Japanese is—"

"You speak Japanese?!" Victor's voice brimmed with excitement. "That's amazing, Japanese is so beautiful and poetic!"

Dear. God.

"Name him something in Japanese for me?" Victor asked with the hope of a child on Christmas Eve. Yuri's heart _sang_. He felt like this was a big friendship ( _orsomethingmore_ ) milestone. The naming of an animal was serious and the request for someone to name an animal that doesn't belong to them wasn't to be taken lightly. It was an _honour_. And here Victor was allowing Yuri, a kid he barely knew, to name his dog. And in Yuri's own language, too.

"I used to have a dog named Maka-chin*. I… he was a poodle, too." Yuri mentioned casually.

"Maka-chin… What does it mean?"

"It has to do with planting seeds, actually. I don't know why I chose it as my dog's name, but I was young, so… Anyways, its got a legacy. The name, I mean. Maka-chin is— was a great dog."

"Was?" Victor asked, voice full of compassion. Yuri felt warmth zing through his body. The voice was so _warm_ and _soft_ …

"He died. Long time ago." Victor must have been able to tell that Yuri didn't want to talk because he moved on quickly and smoothly.

"Oh, you asked why I called! I was talking with Toshiya about— er, he mentioned in passing that, uh, you used to skate…" Victor mumbled, clearing his throat.

Yuri's stomach dropped. His heart dropped. Everything dropped. Yuri grimaced. _Skating_. Christ.

"Interesting. May I ask why he brought that up?" Yuri asked lightly, feeling a storm beginning to rumble through him, heat swelling in his belly.

"I asked about you." Victor said hesitantly, as if he sensed something was wrong.

"Did you, now? And Toshiya just so happened to mention ice skating?" Victor audibly hesitated.

"Yes," Victor stretched the word uncertainly.

"The _nerve_!" Yuri hissed, his free hand curling into a fist. "Is Toshiya in today?" he demanded irritably. He stormed over to his desk and began rummaging through its drawers for his wallet.

"Wait, what? What are you going to do?" Victor asked, sounding a little panicked. Yuri grimaced, slamming the last desk drawer shut, not having found his wallet.

"Nothing, what did you think I was going to do?" Yuri muttered through clenched teeth as dropped onto his bed on his stomach, searching underneath it for the aged wallet.

"I don't know…. Just— you sound like you're holding in curse words and wall-punches, and maybe something worse." Victor observed nervously. Yuri snatched up his wallet from where it hid behind the nightstand.

"I just want to talk. Is he in?" Yuri asked in a clipped tone.

"I'm actually not at work, so I don't know, but I assume he's in." Victor murmured apologetically. Yuri pocketed his wallet and began hunting for his house key.

"I'll just go look for him then." He relented.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not understanding the problem." Victor stated, voice suddenly sharp. Yuri pulled the phone away from his face and glared at it indignantly. He tried to ignore the pain in his chest.

"Excuse me?" Yuri drawled defiantly, once he had put the phone back to his ear.

"It was harmless, he just mentioned it in passing. What's your problem?" Victor sounded so _accusatory_. He made it sound like Yuri was a petty girl that was mad at her boyfriend for talking to his ex. And Yuri would have a problem if his boyfriend talked to his ex. But that wasn't the point.

"The _problem_ ," Yuri hissed venomously, "is that Toshiya knows that he's not supposed to go around sharing things about my past when I explicitly told him—"

"I hardly think it's a secret!" Victor burst out, voice biting like the silver gleam of razor sharp skate blades on smooth ice. It _hurt_. The way he spat out the word "secret" made it seem ridiculous. "He told me about an old hobby of yours, that's not—"

"Okay, first of all, he _knows_ he's not supposed to talk about it! And, second of all, who are you to tell me what parts of my life I should or should not keep to myself?" Yuri hissed into his phone. "You've known me for less than a day, don't presume to know—"

"It sounds to me that you were pretty famous, so people probably recognize you and already know that you ska—"

"I got away." Yuri interrupted before _thatword_ could be said again. He dropped his wallet and keys onto the bedside table, energy draining from his limbs.

"What?" Victor asked. Yuri sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. He eased back onto the downy comforter of his bed and propped his elbows on his knees, lowering his forehead into his free hand.

"I ran _away_." Yuri whispered deliberately in a raw voice, the built-up shame and turmoil of leaving his childhood town and home beginning to gleam.

"I used to live in Japan, where I was pretty well-known," he explained. "So, I moved here, to America… to get away, I guess. So, people wouldn't recognize me or try to talk skating with me or try to get me to skate or..." He broke off and gasped for air, having blurted his confession in a single breath. Every time he said the word "skate" or a variant of it, his voice cracked embarrassingly. He didn't think he could keep cracking like a teenager without breaking down into tears soon.

"Yuri…" Victor's voice had become less like icy blades and more like a lover's caress.

"I'm sorry," Yuri said softly. Sincerely. Also, slightly confused at the sudden shift in the mood of their conversation. He hadn't meant to lose total emotional control in front of the attractive new barista. His face burned with shame.

"No." Victor said flatly. "No, _Christ_ no, _I'm_ sorry. You have nothing to apologize for—"

"I practically attacked you through the phone." Yuri retorted dryly. "I've known you for less than 24 hours and I've managed to piss you off, start a fight over something _stupid_ , act like a complete child and—"

Oh.

My.

God.

Yuri felt his eyes burn with frustrated, guilty, hurt tears. Seriously? He was about to cry over this? _Seriously_? He was going to have to figure out how to control a tear-warbled voice because if Victor found out Yuri was crying, he'd think—

Yuri sniffed without thinking.

His heart froze. The world crashed down around him. Time to move and start a new life in a new place. He always wanted to try living in the mountains… he wondered if the Alps were habitable.

"Are… are you cry—"

"No!" Yuri shouted. But, as it was whenever someone addressed Yuri's emotional side, it only made the sharpness in his chest more painful and the emotion exponentially powerful. Which made him cry even more. And he was now actively crying over the phone to _Kaleidoscope Eyes_.

His brain was panicking. Claxon bells were ringing, alarms were buzzing, lights flashed red. **911, repeat, 911— this is not a drill—**

"Um… are you okay?" Victor asked awkwardly after what had apparently been a long silence. Yuri didn't notice because his brain was making like a fire department in the dry season of California.

"Oh, my God, yes. I'm fine, sorry. This happens. I don't even— ugh!"

"Do you want me to call Toshiya—" Victor sounded increasingly concerned.

" _No_ ," Yuri interrupted abruptly. "I'm fine. Also, I'm still mad at him." Victor was silent for a moment. Yuri pondered whether or not a ten-foot drop would kill him because that's how high up his window was and how desperate to get out this conversation he was.

"Okay… is there anything I can do?" Victor sounded like he wanted to help, but also like he really wanted to keep Yuri away with a 39-and-a-half-foot pole. He was probably feeling guilty, like how guys feel guilty when they make girls cry.

"No, no! I hardly know you, I'm not going to make you come over and make tea for me or hug me while we watch chick-flicks or something!" I mean it would be nice, but I won't ask you to, Yuri's mind added.

"Okay," Victor said neutrally. There was an awkward silence.

"So, do you work today?" Yuri asked, feeling completely and utterly domestic.

"Yeah, but Toshiya said not to come in until sometime after noon. I'm not sure what time that is actually," Victor sounded like he was just now realizing that this might be a problem.

"Why would he specify not to come until late?" Yuri wondered out loud. "Don't tell me you worked hellishly long one day, and he's now set a rule that you aren't allowed to work before noon so that you don't work all day and night." Victor didn't respond.

"Give him time, he'll let you off that tight leash when he thinks you can take care of yourself," Yuri advised.

"O-kay. Um, Toshiya seems very… fatherly. And caring, I guess. Does he have kids or something?" Victor asked conversationally.

"He used to." Yuri sighed, laying back on the bed so he could stare up at his glow-star dotted ceiling.

"Used…"

"He had a daughter. The birth took both child and mother. It was… bad. And since he doesn't have any other family, it's exponentially… bad." Yuri said as evenly as he could. Victor made a slightly alarming choked sound.

"I— God, I— that… I'm sorry, I… for some reason, I can't… I'm sorry." There was a vague clatter from Victor's end of the phone and steady thumps, like footsteps, that got quieter and quieter.

"Victor are you okay?" Yuri asked. His question was met with silence. There weren't even any sounds of breathing filtering through the speaker. "Victor are you there?" he tried again. He waited a few more minutes, fidgeting nervously.

"If you're not there, then I guess… I'll just…" Yuri trailed off awkwardly. "That sound was you dropping the phone and walking away, wasn't it?" Yuri asked rhetorically in a flat voice. When he received no response, he sighed.

"Yep. Got it. Okay, well… have a good day, I guess. I might call later to make sure you're okay." Again, he was met with silence. "Okay, it was nice talking to you, Victor."

Yuri hung up.

 **AN:**

 ***In the show, the actual name of Yuri's dog was Vicchan. Victor had a dog named Maka-chin and Yuri got a similar dog because don't we all want the same pets our idols have and then name the pet after said idol? I took a few liberties with naming because I had no idea how else to get Victor to name his dog after "the spreading of seeds," which is the meaning of Maka (there's probably more meanings, though). If anyone knows why Victor actually named his dog Maka-chin, hit me up.**

 **Writing almost an entire chapter as a phone call was weird. And different. And difficult. I kept trying to go to Victor's point of view because I imagined him pacing around on the phone (like me) because he was nervous about talking to Yuri, and I imagined Maka-chin trying to crawl all over him when he finally sat down. If anyone has any thoughts on phone-call stories, let me know so I can improve!**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed, even though it's a bit longer than the other chaps! Leave me a lil note about how you liked it, how you hated it, etc! Or leave some suggestions because those are fun.**

 **See you next time!**


	4. Confrontations Cause Conflictions

**AN:**

 **I wrote this at the same time as I wrote the last chapter because I'm overly productive at times and have no self-control.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri! On Ice**

 **This is posted early because I'm heading up to the mountains again, and I have no idea how the internets up there will be doing. Some days it's like "yes, we have the internet, we have the fast and pretty internet" but three seconds later it will be like "what's internet." I didn't want to leave anybody hanging if they were really into the story (thank you, you few lovelies who I've suckered into thinking that this is a good story. You rock).**

 **Without further a due, here's the chap.**

 **Chapter 4: Confrontations Cause Conflictions**

Victor sat on the edge of his bed, heels of his palms digging into his eyes. In his mind, he heard the flat dial tone berating him, shaming him, guilting him from the other room. He sighed painfully, heavily, deeply. Like he held the weight of the world. He continued to listen to the tone, knowing that it meant Yuri got tired of waiting and hung up. Gave up.

Victor felt a little guilty for just walking away without saying good bye— okay, he felt _really_ guilty. He didn't really know why he walked away. It was like… when he heard Toshiya's story… he just couldn't. Couldn't explain why the story affected him the way it did, couldn't bring himself to answer the questions Yuri probably had, couldn't find the energy to carry on the conversation.

Victor's mother died during stillbirth of her second son— Victor's younger brother. She was a single, working, pregnant mother of one, going on two. Frazzling stress, little sleep, and the constant fight to get food on the table didn't mix well with a pregnancy. There were probably a million reasons why the pregnancy failed, but Victor was 98% sure it was mostly his own fault. After all, he was another mouth to feed, another body to clothe, and was at a vulnerable age that needed constant tending.

His food could've gone to his mother and strengthened her body. His clothing could've gone to the prenatal vitamins that his mother had to go without. Childcare— which is insanely expensive— took up most of the family budget and would've been better spent for more doctor's visits. If Victor hadn't been taking up so much of his mother's wages, doctors could've seen the baby early and fixed whatever was wrong.

It had happened so long ago, when Victor was around five or six. He hardly remembered any of it, other than the fact that he had been the one to call 911 when his mother flopped to the floor like her legs said _nope not today_ , and she gasped out between labored breaths that the baby was coming. He remembered the loud siren of the ambulance, the swarm of adults carrying scary looking equipment that was stabbed into or hooked up to his mother.

He remembered sitting in a vinyl chair in the waiting room where the nurse directed him to. She said that everything was going to be okay so, instead of worrying, Victor analyzed the pamphlets on the table beside him. They were about cancer, obesity, diabetes— but one had a picture of a young woman with a balloon stomach (like his mother's) and a smile (not as pretty as his mother's). Intrigued, Victor had picked it up and looked at the pictures, which were kind of scary.

He already knew a lot about mothers and babies. He knew that mothers with babies in their tummies liked chocolate, ice cream and pickles (often together). He knew they were tired but grinned with sparkly eyes when the baby kicked. Victor himself was captivated when he felt his little brother kick. The feeling made him want to be the best big brother ever. He was going to teach his little brother how to ice skate and climb trees. He would teach him how to read and how to convince their mother to buy them ice cream. He would teach him how to open juice boxes without squirting juice everywhere and he'd teach him how to make snowmen in the generously snowy Russian winters.

Lost in the excitement of a what having a sibling would be like, Victor almost didn't notice a woman in a black pantsuit walking toward him. She had maroon lipstick, red hair like fire and she didn't smile. The first thing she said was that she was sorry. Then she said something went wrong. That his mother was too sick and died (the woman who had a son, who was in love once upon a time and long ago, who donated bone marrow once, who had two full-time jobs and nineteen best friends). That the baby was too sick and died (the baby who kicked when Victor sang, the baby who had a make shift crib made out of a box, and toys donated by the friends of Victor's mother). And, between a table of pamphlets and an old lady with a cough, Victor became a brotherless orphan.

He missed baby Sasha and stopped believing when adults said things would be okay.

"Should I call him back?" Victor asked suddenly, snapping out of his memories. His dog— newly dubbed Maka-chin— snuffled and wriggled behind him on the bed. "I should call him back. But he'll be mad, so I should wait until he's calmed down? Or will he get angrier the longer I wait?" He was silent for a moment.

"Why does it hurt _now_?" He whispered, covering his mouth with his hand. "I've been fine for so long, I'd stopped thinking about it, so why now? Why am I… why do I suddenly…?" he sighed wearily.

"I've been fi— I _am_ fine. I'm just… sad. Just for now, though," he tried to comfort himself.

"Maybe he'll come by the café." Victor decided, quickly changing the topic of his own conversation before there was no turning back. "He wanted to give Toshiya a scolding, so maybe he's headed that way." Victor glanced at his turned wrist to catch the time and, upon realizing that it was after noon, suddenly leapt up. The sudden change of weight on the bed sent his poor dog bouncing across the mattress with a surprised yelp.

Hoping to catch Yuri before he left the café, Victor raced to the closet and snagged the first pair of jeans his hands met and pulled them up, the dark-wash material lax and easy to get into from years of wear. He stepped into his shoes while pushing his arms through the sleeves of a collared shirt and bent to tie his laces. After he was properly buttoned up and the cuffs were folded somewhat neatly, he grabbed his wallet and jetted out of the room, shouting a quick goodbye to Maka-chin.

Victor was glad to find that the hallways was empty of residents, because it helped him get to the staircase in record time. He tugged the heavy door of the stairwell open, letting it slam behind him, the metallic clang and sound of his rushed steps echoing throughout the small space. He was practically out of breath by the time he reached the first floor and spilled onto the sidewalk like a student newly freed from school for the summer.

Victor's sneakers slapped against the steeply downward slopping sidewalk. He was going so fast, he felt like he might achieve lift-off and was indeed covering more ground with steps that looked like leaps made for take-off. This wicked speed was useful for the rush that he was in, but his near-flight leaps made him a little clumsy and less likely to notice oncoming hazards.

A sharp turn around a hedge-lined corner had him slamming into a jogger pushing a stroller, and not three steps later, he took a spill out onto the street after tripping over a spot of uneven walkway. He fell sharply, his shoulder slamming and digging into the rough asphalt. Keeping his goal in mind, Victor managed to stagger to his feet rather quickly and was off like a shot, ignoring the honking cars and yelling drivers.

"This is ridiculous! I made a small mistake, he'll understand," Victor reasoned to himself between gasps as he continued to sprint. "I mean, I walked away from the phone while he was on the other line. It's not like I stole from his dog or made out with his sister." At this, Victor smacked his elbow into a street sign.

"Christ," he muttered, awkwardly reaching across his torso to rub the injured joint. "I mean, seriously, he's an easy guy to get along with. This isn't a big deal, right?"

Victor's face lit up when the coffee shop came into view, but he came screeching to a halt when upon noticing the huge line leading outside of the café. Crack of dawn, lunchtime and ten minutes before closing proved to be the café's busiest. And it was currently lunchtime. Great.

"The side door!" Victor exclaimed to himself. To avoid having to elbow and fight through the crowd of people, Victor ducked into the narrow alleyway between the café and the jewelry boutique that stood next to it. The area between the two buildings was dead space, holding green dumpsters, huge recycling bins and not much else. The flooring was uneven cobblestone, for some reason, and the walls of the brick buildings seemed to be looming above him with just a strip of sky able to be seen.

Victor sneaked through the space (not entirely sure of if he was allowed to be there) until he came to a few rugged concrete steps that lead to the rusty metal side door of the café. It was technically an emergency exit, and an easy access to the dumpster, but Victor figured that any exit was an entrance if you looked at it the other way and decided that it was perfectly okay to use as a way in.

He hopped up the steps and gripped the glinting doorknob, pausing for a moment as he was struck with a sudden wave of doubt. He almost didn't want to face Toshiya. What if Yuri had already informed him of how much of a jerk Victor was? What if Toshiya was now disappointed and hurt that Victor angered Yuri and made the poor guy cry? Especially after trusting him with one of Yuri's secrets— and trusting Victor to not tell Yuri he knew the secret.

"Confront your conflicts, Victor. Be a man!" Victor encouraged under his breath with a sharp nod. And, like ripping off a Band-Aid, he tugged on the doorknob. The door opened with a surprising ease, swinging like it was spring-loaded, rather than hinge-supported. After recovering from the loud squeals and groans the door made, he stepped into the back room of the café, carefully closing the door so he wouldn't get tetanus.

Victor probably would've preferred the tetanus to what he walked in on. There, standing between the industrial sized version of the kitchen sink and the Narnia style, double door walk-in fridge was his boss and the boss' favourite person in the world (you know, the one who Victor had managed to hurt within about ten or so hours of having known. World record? Probably). And the two were arguing back and forth almost at the top of their lungs.

Victor stood awkwardly by the firmly shut door and the huge shelving unit that was full of paper supplies like cups and napkins. He wasn't sure what he should do. Get in the middle of the argument? Cool the pair down and try to come to some sort of peaceful conclusion? Ignore that, avoid confrontation and jump on front line or maybe into the kitchen with the baking crew? Instead of choosing one of these, Victor stood in place and eavesdropped (like the standup person he was) rather obviously on the argument in front of him.

"… you had no right— regardless of anything you _think_ you've done for me!" Yuri was shouting passionately. His words were bitter, but he didn't sneer nastily— he seemed to honestly feel betrayed. He was clearly on the brink of tears, unless is voice was so ragged because he had been in a row with Toshiya for so long. His face was pinched with pain. Victor was smacked with guilt.

"It was a slip of the tongue, Yuri! Please understand that I meant no harm in anything I said! You know I would never try to—" Toshiya was defending bravely.

"Oh, come off it!" Yuri shouted back, this time sneering venomously. Victor actually took an instinctive step backward at the powerful rage in Yuri's voice. Victor thought he'd heard Yuri furious, but apparently, he had only heard Yuri mad. Yuri's true furious form was absolutely terrifying.

The once bumbling and sweet boy was transformed into the human version of a fire breathing dragon. His hands were balled into fists at his side, his whole body stiffer than a corpse. His face was a fiery shade of red, and his soft lips were shaped into an animalistic, teeth baring scowl.

Bloody. Terrifying.

"Yuri—" Toshiya attempted, clearly trying to appeal to Yuri's compassionate side. The man looked meek and guilty, like he was completely apologetic of what he had done. But he didn't look regretful. Yuri probably picked up on the lack of regret, and it was most likely the reason why he wasn't very understanding or forgiving at the moment.

"Don't! You've been trying to get me back out on the ice ever since I told you about—" Yuri conveniently noticed Victor at that very moment and broke off.

"Hello," Victor said glumly, feeling like a dog caught chewing his owner's shoe.

"You're not in trouble," Yuri said, making it sound like Victor had been a victim of violence. "You couldn't have forced anything out of him that he didn't want to tell you. I also know you didn't realize how… serious skating is to me." For some reason, Victor still didn't feel relieved.

" _Toshiya_ , on the other hand," Yuri continued with a little more bite in his voice, "knew _exactly_ why I didn't want others to know, and he knew that you were probably his best chance of getting me back out on the ice."

"So, he—" Victor tried to ask.

"He was using you, yes." Yuri clarified sharply. Toshiya gave Victor a pleading look.

"Oh." Victor said lightly, starting to knit together the events of the past day and night in his mind. Realization struck.

"Victor, it was not my intention to hurt you or Yuri, I only wanted to help." Toshiya sounded like just a really tired, old man who wanted to bring some happiness to a pair of kids.

"This is… God, this is—" Victor was interrupted before he could find the right word. He felt a grimace twinge across his face, and a twisting begin to grow in his stomach. He knew exactly what was going on.

"Welcome to my life," Yuri muttered sarcastically, sounding bitter and hardened. Victor turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"This is _ridiculous_." Victor finished flatly, all feelings of politeness, sympathy and understanding dropped like the first pound on the day after New Year's. Yuri cocked his head a little and Toshiya's eyes widened a touch, the pair clearly thrown off by Victor's sudden change in behaviour. Victor shook his head, with a laugh that sounded more relieved than it did exhausted or bitter, like his statement of the absurdity of the situation.

"You guys are so blind, it's almost laughable," Victor continued, nodding to himself with surety and putting his hands on his hips; a confident gesture.

"Excuse me?" Yuri drawled, crossing his arms defensively while Toshiya sent a warning glance to Victor. Victor ignored both of these things.

"I can't believe— Yuri, Toshiya is _worried_ about you." Victor said, hands together as he faced Yuri, looking like he was almost pleading for his understanding.

"I don't know many details about your life," he admitted. "But it sounds like something happened. Something bad having to do with ice skating, bad enough to make you quit it altogether and leave your hometown because you were a well-known there and you wanted to leave that life behind." Victor moved one hand press against his brow, where a small headache was brewing.

"Yuri, he's worried that you're never going to skate again. That you'll never get over whatever hurt you. That you'll lose something important to you, something that used to be your whole world and probably still means a lot to you. What happens decades from now when you're an old man watching your grandchildren on the ice and you're desperately wishing you could skate? You realize you can't and that all the time you had where you were able to skate had been wasted out of— what? Fear? Pain?"

Yuri was speechless, his dark eyes wide as saucers and his mouth gaping enough for white molars with a single silver cavity filling to show. He looked like he was trying to come up with some sort of response or retort. When Victor's message sunk in, Yuri sagged his stiff posture as the fight literally left him and he bit his lip. Toshiya watched him closely out of the corner of his eye.

"And Toshiya," Victor said, moving his intervention to his boss, who flinched at the sound of his name, "Yuri told me a couple things about your life, too. So, technically, you both kind of betrayed each other's trust— _please let me finish_." Victor ordered, rather than requested when both Yuri and Toshiya looked like they were about to protest.

"Toshiya, I know that someone… close to you died. And young, at that. I can't begin to imagine the pain of losing a child…" Victor felt his voice crack. Toshiya's lower lip began to tremble.

"Regardless… I know loss." Victor admitted heavily, voice slightly hollow. "I know feeling cheated because of a loss. I know desiring the relationship— even a relationship with a life that was taken before you could say a word to him or even hold him… I know what wanting that relationship anyways feels like. I really do."

"Yuri is like a son to you," Victor continued. "You're trying to help him. You think that you can fix this because you feel like you failed your first child, and you don't want to fail Yuri by sitting around while he's hurting and sad and alone and whatever else. But in the process of trying to get him to stop hurting, _you're hurting him_." Victor gasped for breath, bracing himself with his hands on his hips.

"God, you two are denser than a pound cake— get some help and talk it out!" He finished before whirling around triumphantly with the satisfied feeling that can only be achieved by telling someone off. He stormed into the narrow hallway between the store room and the front of the café.

In the short corridor, Victor grabbed an apron from one of the many pegs and pulled it over his head, glancing at Yuri and Toshiya through the doorway between the hall and the storeroom. Yuri was staring at the ground like it held the answers to the world's biggest problems, and Toshiya had one arm wrapped around his own waist, with the other arm's elbow propped up on it so his hand could cover his mouth with minimal effort.

Victor shook his head as he wrapped the apron strings around his waist and began tying them securely. Then, he reached out and pulled the door that separated the storeroom from the hallway until it closed with a soft click. The "employee's only" sign clacked lightly against the dark, dented spot it made in the door's white paint from years of practice. Victor turned around and found Rose taking an order at front counter.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly to the freckled, redhead when she had finished punching in her customer's order. She gave Victor an appraising look with calculating, grass-green eyes.

"Some row, you got in back there. Should I tell Sylvie there's a mess to clean up, or did you keep the blood from spattering much?" she asked, with a quirked lip. Across the room, Sylvie, a blonde girl who wore flowers in her elegantly braided hair, looked up from where she was cleaning off a table. She gave Victor a sunny grin and winked a bright blue eye.

"Have some faith. I can clean up after my own messes," Victor said as he signed himself into the computer and gave a wave to Sylvie.

"It's about time someone said something," Rose said offhandedly. She passed a handful of change over to her customer and turned to fiddle with the coffee machine behind her. "Everyone was afraid to because they didn't want to get fired or something. Toshiya is funny when it comes to Yuri."

"Sorry?" Victor asked before he began taking the order of a large business man dressed in a black suit. Rose looked back at Victor, batting at a frizzy strand of hair that had freed itself from her pony tail.

"Toshiya and Yuri are basically father and son, right? They need each other, depend on each other, all that jazz. They're also slowly killing each other one disagreement after another." Victor must have looked surprised, because she added, "they may look like sunshine and rainbows or whatever, but they don't agree on a dang thing."

"They seem so close, I assumed they always got along," Victor muttered. He would've been less surprised if someone had told him he was pregnant with the next King of England.

"I know. But they don't. They disagree on everything from the death penalty to the Big Bang Theory. Here you go!" Rose chirped out the last bit to her customer, who was a scruffy teen that seemed more interested in the conversation happening before him than the coffee being handed to him.

"Then again, disagreement is the glue that holds people together, sometimes." Rose relented, shooing the teenager away. "Sorry, that was my brother. And before you say that we look nothing alike, I'm the red-headed stepchild." She grinned sardonically.

"Now you know that disagreement holds my family together." She said good naturedly.

"Yeah, you're one of those people that believes that argument and hatred hold families together more than love does." Sylvie piped up, trading out her dirty dishcloth for a clean one in the sudsy buckets underneath the counter.

"I call it how I see it," Rose shrugged, showing no remorse.

"If anything, it's guilt and a sense of responsibility that holds families togeth—"

"The _point_ ," Rose interrupted, cutting of a passionate Sylvie, "is that they disagree on much more than whether or not people should be killed for their crimes and how the universe was made. They don't agree on anythi—"

"Do they agree on each other?" Victor asked over his shoulder, setting a cup under one of the many machines he had access to.

"What do you me—"

"Do they—"

"No, I _heard_ you, I just don't—"

"They love each other. They would catch a bullet for each other. They would die for each other. They'd bail each other out of jail, they'd _go_ to jail for each other, they'd—"

"Alright, alright, you've made your point!" Rose exclaimed. Victor handed a receipt and a coffee to the large business man and turned to face Rose and Sylvie.

"Then, regardless of what they _don't_ agree with," he said softly, "they agree on each other. That's the biggest thing."

 **AN:**

 **Did you like the philosophy on love? A lot of people seem to believe that disagreement, fighting and hatred hold families together like glue, like how Rose believes. Others think that a sense of duty or guilt (one stays close to their family to avoid the guilt they'd feel if they ignored or stayed away from their family) which is what Sylvie seems to think. But I think it's love, or Victor's kind of silly theory of "agreeing on each other" that keeps families together. I hope it makes sense, I realize it's a little dorky!**

 **See you next time!**


	5. Avenue Abrasions

**AN:**

 **Hey again!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri! On Ice**

 **Warning: little bit of blood, but nothing disgustingly graphic. This is coming from the dork who gets squeamish in most "Grey's Anatomy" episodes, so if you can handle those, this'll be nothing.**

 **Also, there's some doctor-y terms and such. Expect me to get things wrong, and feel free to correct me! And without further ado, here's the fifth installment!**

 **Chapter 5: Avenue Abrasions**

Yuri felt effectively put in his place. He had just received a verbal smackdown from the guy he had personally offended over the phone to the point where said guy had _walked away from the phone_. As in, didn't even bother to hang up. He was _that_ offended (new world record? Maybe).

And at first, Yuri was pissed because one of his closest secrets was leaked. He was also ridiculously _hurt_ about the whole thing because, after dropping the bomb that he'd been told about Yuri's secret, Victor disappeared. The second object of Yuri's flaming anger was Toshiya (who knew _exactly_ why Yuri didn't want his skating secret out and prancing around). Because Victor was MIA, Yuri decided to dish it out to Toshiya first and marched over to the café.

Yuri found Toshiya at front counter, putting a few finishing touches on one of his many coffee machines. The one most commonly used for mochas was prone to crapping out if it was used too often in a short amount of time and it took a delicate touch to get fired back up. When he heard footsteps coming close, Toshiya had glanced up, face brightening like the bloody sun upon seeing Yuri. As Yuri came closer, face like thunder, Toshiya's sunny grin began to droop comically.

"Yuri, is everything alright?" Toshiya had asked with grandfatherly concern, immediately putting down the tools he was using to tinker with the machine. Yuri came around the corner, barely a foot away from Toshiya, and crossed his arms.

"Yuri, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Yuri pursed his lips, taking in Toshiya's sad puppy-dog eyes and furrowed brow.

"I think we have something to discuss, don't you?" Toshiya opened his mouth, clearly about to attempt to placate Yuri, but Yuri beat him to it.

" _Don't tell me to calm down_." Yuri hissed.

"Yuri, I don't—"

"One. Thing. _Onething_!" He was practically shouting. "I told you not to tell anyone about this _one thing_ and you—" Yuri cut off, realizing that their conversation wasn't exactly private, seeing as it was taking place during rush hour on front counter.

"You told freaking Victor about that thing!" he hissed. Toshiya's eyes widened with recognition.

"Yeah. That's right. I know that you told him. You probably told him to keep is hush-hush, no? Told him that this was between him and you? Made it sound like some trivial, innocent little secret and like I was just being a stubborn idiot who can't accept his past, or—"

Yuri was cut off when Toshiya grabbed his forearm and dragged him through the "employees only" door that lead to the stockroom. Toshiya pulled Yuri to the center of the storeroom, the huge shelving of café supplies loomed above them like scaffolding.

Normally, reluctant apologizing and placated forgiveness would follow up after a short fight between Yuri and Toshiya, but this time, Toshiya used the words, "Yuri, please be reasonable." This was not good at all. It was a game changer you couldn't reverse.

Yuri had a few words to share just how "reasonable" he was and had been chewing Toshiya out for a good fifteen minutes before he noticed a very uncomfortable Victor standing in a literal dark corner. The poor guy appeared out of nowhere and looked like he had just taken the last cookie from the jar, complete with the pouting lip, downcast gaze and hands clasped behind his back. This guilt-beaten image didn't last long because, seconds later, Victor had turned the tables sharply and was suddenly scolding Yuri and Toshiya.

And he was _good_ at it.

After making both Yuri and Toshiya feel like petty children, Victor stormed out front to start his shift, leaving Toshiya standing stiffer than a statue while staring at the wall farthest from Yuri, and Yuri crossing his arms while blankly eyeing the floor. This left a seriously awkward silence in the storeroom, both parties being afraid to disturb the quiet. Until Toshiya finally took the dive.

"I'm sorry," the man's aged voice trembled lightly, sounding paper thin. Yuri flinched at the sudden words and looked up to find his mentor avoiding his gaze. "It wasn't my intent to… to hurt you, I just..."

Yuri was a little thrown off. First, Toshiya was apologizing. As kind as he was, Toshiya didn't really _do_ apologizing. Second, Toshiya wasn't looking at him. Toshiya believed strongly in a lot of old fashioned things, like holding doors open and looking someone in the eye when talking to them.

"I knew… I knew it made you uncomfortable when I brought up skating, but… I didn't realize I was hurting you. I'm sorry." Toshiya finally looked at Yuri with sad eyes.

"No, I—" Yuri broke off with a sigh and dragged a hand down his face. After Victor crashed Yuri's pity party, everything Yuri had been complaining about seemed so trivial. He was still irritated with Toshiya for outing the secret, he was just more exhausted from carrying around the secret for so long than he was mad at Toshiya.

"I get why you … I mean, I understand, I just… I hate it. But what's done is done, so… no use in complaining anymore, I guess." It sounded more than a little disheartened and lame, but no less honest. Toshiya smiled weakly, with the warmth and affection of a father. He clapped Yuri on the shoulder and the two settled into a companionable silence.

"I'm going to talk to Victor," Yuri piped up, shuffling towards the hallway that linked the storeroom and the front room. Toshiya made no move to respond or follow, so Yuri closed the door behind him.

When he turned to face the employee side of cashier counter, he found Victor laughing and grinning brightly at Roseanne, who was retelling horror stories from her first job and explaining the many accidents she caused with wild gestures and animation (while somehow still managing to make and pass out coffee orders with ease and speed). Sylvia, having heard these stories many times before, chimed in her two cents every now and then as she swept the floor under a nearby table.

Yuri's gaze had zeroed in on Victor the moment he stepped into the room. It was like there was a magnet inside Yuri's body and Victor was the strong force that pulled on him. It also might have been the golden sunshine filtering through the large windows that was creating a halo effect in Victor's now glowing hair. It was rather distracting and almost ethereal.

What was more pathetic was the fact that Yuri was drawn to and hypnotized by Victor… who was currently _cleaning up a spill_. That wasn't anything to swoon over, but Yuri was out of breath anyways as he watched his new favourite barista. He was pulled out of his day-dreamy, beauty-struck mind when, with a subtle grimace, Victor tossed his cleaning rag to his other hand and began cleaning with his left.

Normally Yuri wouldn't have paid any attention to this change of hands and would've assumed that the pained grimace was caused by muscle stiffness from repetitive work. But, when this action was paired with an odd, pinkish stain that had begun to peek through Victor's white shirt, Yuri looked twice.

Upon closer inspection, Yuri found that the entire side of the right sleeve on Victor's shirt was stained a light brown, as if it had been dragged through a pile of dirt and wasn't obvious unless the light hit it just right. The stain was darkest and pink-tinted by the shoulder. Yuri crept a bit closer and found that the pinkness looked a lot like…

"Victor," Yuri said softly, interrupting Roseanne's story about a small grease fire she started on her third day at a fast food restaurant. Victor jerked away from Yuri's voice with a high yelp.

"лорд всемогущий!" Victor screeched, hand pressed against his heart as if to slow its beating. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" he exclaimed.

"Ah, sorry about that..." Yuri muttered with embarrassment as the girls tittered in the background. "I was just worri- _wondering_ …"

"What _is_ it, Yuri?" Yuri quickly suppressed the warm rush he got from hearing his name spoken in an almost gravelly voice. This was ignoring the fact that the gravel-iness was probably caused by the speaker growling with irritability. Victor was still clearly annoyed with Yuri and Toshiya, despite the steam he'd blown off by effectively putting the pair in their place.

"Is that… blood? On your shirt?" Yuri asked hesitantly, pointing to the offending stain. Victor blinked owlishly and followed Yuri's pointed finger the reddening sleeve.

"Oh. Well. That's there, I guess…" Victor remarked. "Must've happened earlier." He muttered thoughtfully, casually examining the sleeve.

"Earlier?" Victor nodded.

"I was in a bit of a rush on my way here. Tripped into the road. Practically fell on my face, ticked off some drivers, too— by the way, this town is full of lovely people and all, but none of you can drive." At this, Roseanne muttered something unintelligible and received a swat to the arm from Sylvia.

"You fell into the road?" Yuri parroted.

"Didn't hurt or anything, no big deal" Victor shrugged, turning around to face a machine that looked like it had been caught in the middle of a whipped cream war. "Rose, what the heck did you do to this thing while I was gone?"

"No idea what you're talking about, Guv'." Roseanne chirped, as she served the last customer and scurried away with window cleaner in one hand and Sylvia's hand in the other.

"Let me see your arm, it's probably infected," Yuri demanded, earning himself a squint of distrust.

"It's just a scratch. I didn't even realize it was there until you mentioned it," Victor said this as if it was a valid reason to not at least get a band-aid for a bleeding wound. Yuri huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Blood is literally dripping down your arm, that's not "just" a scratch. And, judging by how dirty your sleeve is, your fall was probably pretty bad, so you probably have a bit of road rash. There's probably all kinds of disease and grime in your wound, too. You need to get that cleaned out," Yuri reasoned, raising his chin a little.

"Yuri, it's fine—"

"Victor, I'm not asking," Yuri stated flatly, meeting Victor's eye confidently.

"Fine," Victor relented. "You're probably right, but I can take care of it by myself." He tossed the rag across the room at Roseanne and grinned when it landed in her hair. He waved sweetly as she threw a few choice words over her shoulder at him and continued to shine the windows.

"Let me do it. You'll have to reach at an awkward angle since the wound is on your shoulder," Yuri insisted, already reaching to grab the first aid kit from under the front counter. Victor sighed, but gave in and circled the counter, plopping down into a two-toned armchair done in dove grey and sky blue.

Yuri followed him with the kit and set it down on a nearby table, a decoupage piece made from newspaper bits written in foreign languages. He popped open the kit and began rummaging through it, pulling out stacks of gauze and bandages until he managed to find the alcohol-based disinfectant. He laid his tools out across the table and turned to face Victor.

Poor Victor was grimacing and staring at the table's contents like bandages were signs of the devil. His whole body stiffened like he was bracing himself for a sharp blow, and his breathing was a bit ragged.

"Victor," Yuri stated, eyeing the barista closely. When Victor didn't respond, Yuri repeated his name, but was met with silence again. He hesitantly reached out a hand towards Victor's uninjured shoulder, pausing when his fingertips hovered close to the limb. Then several things happened.

First, Yuri closed the distance between his hand and Victor's shoulder, which was the worst thing he could've done. Victor yelped like he'd been shot and flinched hard away from Yuri. In response to the sudden reaction he'd gotten from Victor, Yuri stepped back, slamming the back of his legs into a chair and, due to his complete lack of balance off the ice, caused himself to go tumbling backwards with the chair. Victor's quick, jerky movement caused him to kick the table, sending the bottle of disinfectant flying across the room to meet the back of Sylvia's head with a sound _smack_.

"Victor, you absolute trash!" Roseanne shouted in her friend's defense, scooping up the bottle from where it touched down on the floor. "Stop throwing shi—"

"Rose!" Sylvia cut off her off. Roseanne glared at her and grunted, chucking the bottle overhand across the room. It missed Victor by a mile and landed somewhere behind the counter.

"Yuri? Why are you on the floor?" Sylvia asked sweetly, rubbing the back of her head. Yuri responded with a groan as he rolled onto his side.

"Just, you know, making sure it's clean," Yuri muttered lightly as he pulled himself back to his feet. He set the chair upright and glanced over at Victor, who looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Victor, you okay? You didn't hit your head when you fell, or anything, did you?" Yuri questioned, chasing down the disinfectant. When he'd retrieved it, he circled the counter and came back to Victor, keeping a wide girth and giving the clearly _not_ okay barista some space.

"Иисус Христос," Victor responded unhelpfully, dropping his forehead into a free hand. "Sorry, I just really hate… medical… things. I got lost in my head, I guess. You startled me."

" _I_ startled—" Yuri scoffed, breaking off. "Why do you have such an... adverse reaction to medical supplies? You've been to a hospital, or at least a doctor's office, right?" Yuri pulled the cap off the disinfectant with a loud pop that had Victor flinching again.

"Wha's that?" Victor muttered, eyeing the bottle closely with untrusting eyes. He slumped droopily into his seat.

"Just something to clean out the wound." Yuri explained, still earning wary eyes.

With a little effort, Yuri began to wrangle Victor out of his shirt, carefully peeling the now blood-soaked fabric away from the wound while causing as little pain as possible. Victor was a slow and clumsy, almost bumbling in his efforts to free himself of his shirt, which was worrisome. Yuri had to remind himself that, in this situation, he was like a _doctor_ and Victor was his _patient_. Only clean, healing thoughts were allowed. He was pretty sure he heard Roseanne let out a quiet cat-call until Sylvia choked her into silence, though.

"Get me a wet towel. Use warm water," Yuri ordered Roseanne, who raced to do his bidding, but let her eyes roam the bare expanse of Victor's back as she trotted by. Yuri glared at her and she stuck her tongue out at him.

Yuri turned to inspect the wound, which was a bit deeper than he expected it would be. It looked like multiple layers of skin had been chaffed away. And, as expected, the lacerations were full of dirt. Yuri winced in sympathy. This was going to be pretty painful. If it had been anyone else, Yuri would've suggested that the injured party go to the hospital, but Victor clearly hated hospitals and the wound didn't seem to need stitches, it was just… bleeding a lot. Yuri could totally handle it with his expired certificate in first aid.

When Roseanne returned with a soaked cloth, Yuri took it silently and began carefully dabbing at the wound to get out as much of the gravel and dirt as he could, without rubbing any further into the wound. Though he was being as gentle as possible, the cleaning was not at all painless for Victor, who gave the occasional deep grunt as the sensitive wound was aggravated.

After he was satisfied that he'd gotten the wound as clean as he could, Yuri handed the reddened cloth back at Roseanne, instructing her to throw it in the dumpster outside. He specified to go through the front door, because going through the back door required going behind the counter and through the storeroom, where food, coffee cups and like resided.

Yuri grabbed the disinfectant bottle and poured the strong-smelling liquid onto the stark white gauze. Without even needing prompting, Sylvia sat next to Victor and grabbed the barista's pale, trembling hand. She began rambling about sunset and apple pies and all sorts of lovely things to keep Victor's attention off his shoulder.

"Victor, this is going to a sting a bit, okay? Don't panic, I know it will hurt but we have to disinfect your cuts." Yuri said in a steady voice, which was a high contrast to the anxiety that was thrumming through him.

Without taking his eyes off Victor's face, Yuri slowly pressed the alcohol-soaked gauze against the bloody scrapes. Victor winced and tried to shy away from the sting of the alcohol, but Sylvia's strong grip on his hand held him in place. Yuri was pleasantly surprised that he patient was so calm and still.

The only problem was the longer Yuri spent cleaning the wound, the heavier it bled. It wasn't spurting, like an artery was struck. It was more like it was bleeding continuously, like a tap of water. Yuri made quick work of cleaning the wound and patched up the shoulder, but it was like plugging a leaky pipe while it flooded a house. Difficult. Very difficult.

"Why's he bleeding so much?" Roseanne finally asked quietly. Victor had closed his eyes against the pain and that paired with his stillness made the room's inhabitants feel like the same urge for silence that libraries demanded.

"I don't really know," Yuri admitted. Nerves and frustration were begging to get the best of him. "It's been years since I took classes for first aid... I don't think an artery was nicked, because the wound seems deep, but still relatively shallow, but the amount of bleeding is…"

"Maybe he's hemophilic?" Sylvia piped up, earning shocked expressions from Yuri and Roseanne. "What? My uncle is and every time he gets a cut, everyone acts like it's the end of the world and he bleeds like a stuck pig." Yuri felt stupid.

"He can't clot," Roseanne said suddenly, a touch of horror in her voice. "His blood can't clot, he's going to bleed out!" Yuri felt really stupid. He frustratedly bit his lip, feeling tension building up behind his eyes as his mind raced and wracked for treatments for bleeding patients who had hemophilia.

He was going through the gauze like a baby goes through diapers, and Victor was becoming increasingly unsteady. Pale, trembling, tired. Yuri got the girls to fetch water, food and wet towels for Victor regularly, which seemed to do little to help Victor's ashen complexion and trembling limbs. But he began improving quicker once his wound was completely bandaged.

"Get some ice." Yuri demanded over his shoulder as he helped Victor lay down across a pair of armchairs. He pressed as hard as he dared against the wound site, though blood flow was already slowing. Yuri just wasn't sure if that was because the wound was actually healing, or because Victor's body wasn't replacing the lost blood fast enough.

A cool wad of towels with hard cubes of ice nestled inside was shoved into Yuri's field of vision. He gently brought against Victor's shoulder. Hopefully, he could keep pressure on the site of the wound to stem blood flow, while cooling the skin to discourage swelling and further bleeding.

"Thanks, Sylvia," Yuri muttered. "I don't know why I didn't think of that. Hemophilia…" he laughed humourlessly. Sylvia shook her head, patting Yuri on the back.

"You said yourself that it's been a long time since you've had any courses for first aid. I think you did well." Yuri nodded, but felt a burning ball of guilt begin to churn in his stomach, regardless. This whole situation could've been avoided.

"Yur..?" Victor mumbled, raising his head a little. He looked dazed and disoriented. Yuri immediately leaned forward so Victor could see him without lifting his head.

"Hey, Victor, you're okay. We cleaned out your wound, but it bled a lot so you're probably going to feel a little out of it for a while. I don't think you lost enough blood to be in danger or to need a hospital visit. It would've been great if you'd warned us that you have hemophilia, though." Yuri hinted with a weak grin. He was rewarded with a breathy chuckle.

"F'rgot… take care o' m'self," Victor explained, yawning delicately. Yuri felt something warm bubble in his chest.

"You're used to taking care of yourself? Well, you have all of us to bother now, so… tell someone next time you're dying from blood loss. Okay?" Victor only hummed contentedly and stretched like a cat. He wore a loopy grin that smoothed out the worry lines across his forehead.

"M'kay… благодаря любви…" Victor mumbled, falling into a light doze.

Yuri shook his head fondly and double-checked Victor's bandages while the barista napped quietly. In the peaceful quiet the café had become, Sylvia and Roseanne bustled around restocking the first aid kit, throwing away used gauze and cleaning up the floors and tables where Victor's blood had splattered.

Yuri took another wet towel and began cleaning blood from Victor's face and his own hands. He stared solemnly at the reddened white cloth in his hands until it was whisked away by one of the girls. With his hands empty, Yuri fiddled and tapped and drummed his fingers on every surface within reach to ease his nervous energy.

For the next half hour, Yuri sighed and restlessly cast his gaze back at Victor's peaceful face several hundred times. Yuri's fingers, with their own mind, had begun to stroke silvery strands of hair until the patient's eyes suddenly fluttered open like porcelain butterfly wings.

"Hi," Victor said with a loopy grin. Yuri couldn't help but grin back.

"Hi. Are you feeling any better?" Victor nodded affirmatively.

"Much better. It's less like I'm floating and more like I'm just tired, which is a good sign. Thanks for helping me." Yuri blushed at the serious gratitude.

"Anyone could've—" "But they didn't. Most of the customers ran when they saw the blood. _You're_ the one who helped. I'm glad you did." Victor wrinkled his nose and sniffed.

"What's wrong?"

"Smells like alcohol. But bad alcohol." Victor muttered, turning his face so his nose buried into the side of Yuri's leg. Yuri blushed harder and tittered nervously while Roseanne guffawed in the background.

"Uh, so, should we… should we get you home?" Yuri offered, shifting so he could stand up. Victor grumbled irritably and threw a floppy arm around Yuri's waist, holding his temporary doctor in place. Yuri felt the room heat up.

"Or… or we can stay," Yuri chuckled nervously.

"Stay." Victor agreed seriously.

 **AN:** **Yay whump!** **So, I noticed that in the first chapter that I was in 1st person, while the later chapters are all 3rd person. If that bothers anyone, I can fix it (I don't know if I'd do it all 1st or all 3rd yet), but if you guys don't really care then I'll probably just leave it.**

 **I know nothing about hemophilia, it literally just popped into my head and I try to write things I've never written before. If anyone has tips or advice about how to write about hemophilia, let me know.**


	6. Hospital Haze

**AN:**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri! One Ice**

 **Get ready for lots of fluff, guys. You'll be puking rainbows after this. You're welcome.**

 **Chapter 6: Hospital Haze**

"… _ctor…" Victor scrunched his eyebrows together. He kept hearing bits of words that he couldn't piece together. It sounded like someone was trying to talk to him, but there wasn't anyone around. He was standing completely alone in the middle of a deserted street that looked just like the one outside his apartment._

 _The road was hedged with dramatically cracked sidewalks and abandoned buildings with dark windows. The road itself was dotted with sinkholes, its stoplights blinked red lazily and a few sparking wires hung swaying from its telephone poles. It was like everyone had packed up and left the town after an earthquake._

" _Plea…" The voice cried out heartbrokenly._

 _Victor knew this voice. He knew it like the lyrics to an old childhood song you can't quite remember. Like a homey, comforting smell that tickles your memory and frustrates you to pieces because you can't fully grasp the triggered memory that seems to float through your mind. It rang with familiarity like the voice of a long-lost sibling was familiar to its missing other half. And the fact that he couldn't pin down the owner of the voice made his chest ache and his eyes burn._

 _It was killing him. The intimate whispers sounded so desperate it made his want to cry. He couldn't figure out what exactly the voice was pleading for, but he knew it was important. Important enough for someone to whisper with that much urgency and agony. There was no escaping the voice, either. No ignoring its pain. It flooded Victor's suddenly unpopulated street with raw emotion and seemed to be controlling the soft wind that brushed against his skin like gentle kisses._

" _Vict…" This time the voice sounded wobbly, like it was trying not to cry or something._

" _What?" Victor begged, his voice sounding muffled to his own ears. He felt like he was under water, attempting to speak through the crashing waves of a tsunami that drowned him out. Frustration and desperation welled up inside him, tears stinging his eyes as he bit his lip in an effort to control the overwhelming surge of emotion._

" _Who are— where… where are you?" Victor begged, whirling around to try and find the voice. His eyes scanned the street, which was completely still— the trees didn't sway, the litter didn't tumble in the breeze, the stoplights stopped blinking and the telephone wires weren't swinging._

 _He no longer cared who the voice belonged to. He no longer tried to scan through his mental catalogue of voices, trying to match up the one he was hearing to one he knew. He just needed to find the owner of the voice. He just needed to know the owner was okay._

"… _up…" was the voice's answer. Victor frowned._

" _Up?" he parroted._

" _Wa…" The voice encouraged._

" _Up, wa… Up wa…." Victor tried to put the words together._

" _Wake…" the voice supplied._

" _Wake… up?" Victor guessed hesitantly. At those words, he was sucked from the ghost-town of his own once bright and lively street._

"O мой Бог!" Victor shouted with a gravelly voice. He surged upwards like he'd been electrocuted. Immediately he felt multiple pairs of hands against his chest, pushing him down onto whatever soft thing he was lying on. He writhed and kicked, fighting tooth and nail against the bodiless hands. And suddenly he felt one of those hands press against Victor's own hand.

It wasn't restraining but seemed to be trying to comfort Victor. The hand was small, warm and wrapped tightly around Victor's palm, the fingers clenching almost painfully. His fingers tingled with the loss of circulation, but he didn't attempt to free his hand from the choking grasp.

Voices shouted together and all at once. Their words attempted to calm him but all of them jumbled together did nothing but make him more anxious. The blaring and beeping of multiple alarms close to his head erupted suddenly like sirens, forcing him into a deeper panic. But the hand helped, and he clutched it right back as if it was the only thing holding him to this world.

Which much effort, Victor finally managed to get his heavy eyelids to snap open. He was met with multiple faces sporting wide eyes, and rapidly moving mouths. Toshiya was there looking angry enough to punch someone's lights out. One of Victor's own neighbors, a grumpy kid who was ironically also named Yuri, was there looking uncharacteristically shaken and Roseanne was beside him tearing up but had a fierce expression. The others were a pair of men in white coats an— dear God, they're doctors.

Victor felt his pulse surge and his breathing become even more ragged. He hated hospitals, he hated them with so much passion that he couldn't even describe it. He needed to leave. He needed to get out of the chemical smelling, blindingly white, disease ridden hospital _right now_.

He squeezed the hand that held his with more strength than he knew possible and tugged, trying to drag the hand's owner into his line of sight to communicate his fear and urgent need to leave. The sound of stumbling feet and a hushed yelp broke through the frantic shouting of doctors, neighbors and café friends like a high note through a heavy brass number.

When the mystery person broke through the crowd around Victor's bed, Victor found himself staring up at a familiar friend with deep brown eyes that sparkled with tears, a pain-crumpled face and tightly pressed trembling lips.

"Yu…" Victor said, his raspy, abused throat betraying him. He doubled over into a deeply painful coughing spell. He gripped the hand's whole arm to his chest like it was the one thing holding him grounded on the surface of an unsteady reality.

"Victor, calm down. Lay back and just… take some deep breaths, okay? Please. Just breathe. Please, just breathe for me." Yuri begged, voice wobbling and lips trembling. Victor felt an icy stab in his heart when he saw the obvious fear on Yuri's face and, without releasing Yuri's hand, he lowered back onto what he discovered was a hospital bed.

"Don' like… I don' like…" Victor whispered, desperate for Yuri to understand. Yuri nodded so quickly, Victor thought his head might fall off.

"I know you hate hospitals, I know," Yuri said apologetically. "But after you passed out, we found out that your wound was still bleeding. We had to take you to the hospital— no, no don't freak out, it's okay!— you just need a quick transfusion! Well, transfusions take like hours, so it's not really quick, but—"

"I think he gets it, Yuri, take a breath." Toshiya interrupted warmly. Yuri blushed and stammered out an apology, still gripping the life out of Victor's hand.

Victor looked down at their joined hands and discovered that Yuri was holding the hand of the arm that had the transfusion needle stuck in it. Victor sucked in a breath and followed the needle with his eyes. It was attached to a tube, which was attached to a bag of dark red liquid that hung from a hook above his head.

"я собираюсь умереть," Victor whispered, slack-jawed.

"Can you guys give us a minute? Alone?" Yuri asked suddenly, stepping between Victor's field of vision and the blood bag.

One of the doctors, a guy who looked no older than 20, rolled his grey-green eyes and stuck his clipboard under his arm. The doctor with the freckles and the baby fat glared at his irritable coworker and grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the room. Toshiya followed, patting Victor's non-needle arm, smiling warmly before he left. Roseanne gave Victor a peck on the forehead and dragged a protesting Neighbor Yuri out by the collar of his leopard print sweater.

"I have no idea what you said, but I think it was in Russian and I know it wasn't good." Yuri sighed, after the entourage left and the door was shut. He sunk down onto the edge of the hospital bed, the white sheets crinkling under him. "Victor, I know you hate it here, and that you're really nervous. But I promise, everything's going to be okay."

Victor gave him a hesitant, blatantly false smile and continued to let his wary eyes roam the small room, only half looking for an escape. The walls were a grey-blue to match Victor's hospital-issued blanket, and the chairs (which looked superbly uncomfortable) were as bright white as his sheets. There was a clunky white lamp on each of the twin bedside tables that sat on either side on the bed and they cast a harsh, not at all comforting glow around the room.

Victor swallowed hard, mouth suddenly incredibly dry. His heart beat pulsed loudly in his head and he felt weak and exhausted. He hated hospitals. They were where people died, and were ripped open until they died, and were put back together only to catch some kind of disease and die. He also hated feeling sick. And Yuri had said he wouldn't have to go to the hospital. He lied.

"You promised…" Victor sniffled with a broken voice. Yuri bit his lip, guilt painting his features. His mouth twisted into a frown and his eyes were pinched as if he were in pain.

"I know, I'm sorry, I know. But it was an emergency, I— I had to— I-I'm sorry."

"I hate…" Victor whimpered weakly, turning his head so he could press his face into the pillow and avoid Yuri's guilty expression.

"I know, I know. But you can't leave until you're not going to pass out by standing up. Which is what you did at the café, by the way. Scared the life out of me and the girls."

"I passed out?" Victor asked curiously, peeking up at Yuri. Yuri nodded, pursing his lips.

"Yeah. I let you rest for a half hour, but when you didn't wake up on your own, I shook you awake. You were so out of it… if I hadn't known better, I would've assumed you were drunk." Yuri shook his head with a quiet chuckle.

"That's when I saw that you were bleeding through the bandages, so I drove— well, Roseanne drove us all here, that is. I was— um— too, uh, nervous. To drive, I mean. Anyways, Toshiya came because he apparently knows all your health information, or something— I don't really know, but since he's your boss, it makes sense that he would know about all that. Anyways, Sylvia wanted to come, but she's kind of raising her sort-of temporarily orphaned cousin at the moment..." Yuri finished awkwardly. Victor gave a half-hearted grin at his rambling friend and stared down at his legs.

"Don't like…" Victor found his voice repeating without his consent. He hated himself for only being able to focus on how scared he was. Yuri gripped his hand tighter, his other one sweeping through Victor's messy hair.

"I know. But Toshiya is staying for a while— he and Roseanne are opening tomorrow morning, so they can't stay long— but I'll stay _all night_. If you want." Yuri offered, face apologetic. Victor looked up at him hopefully.

"Want…" Victor nodded as vigorously as he could, earning a soft chuckle from Yuri.

"Okay, okay," he grinned, tears still glimmering in his eyes. "I'll have Toshiya bring me a bag of my stuff, so I don't have to leave, alright?" Victor smiled loopily at this. "I take that as a yes."

Now that he was much calmer and had the security of knowing he wouldn't be alone in the hospital all night, Victor felt exhausted. He tried to scoot down towards the end of the bed that wasn't tilted up, but quickly found that this was a bad idea. In his moving, he jerked his body awkwardly, which pulled on the IV in his arm. He yelped and flinched away, almost pulling the blood bag off the hook it was dangling from.

"Woah, woah, calm down!" Yuri exclaimed. The hand not holding Victor's went to awkwardly push against Victor's chest in an attempt to restrain him. Victor only thrashed harder, causing Yuri to panic and step closer to the bed, tripping over the stand that held the blood bag. He released his grip on Victor in order to catch the bad of blood that flew off the stand.

" _OhGodohGod—_ oooh _gross_ , ew, ew, ew, bag of blood, _grossgrossgross_!" he shrieked, staring down at the ruby red bag he was struggling to keep a grasp on. He was very aware that he essentially held life in his hands. Victor's life. He quickly hooked the bag back up and shuddered before turning back to Victor.

"Victor, Victor, stop!" Yuri exclaimed, hands gripping Victor's shoulders in an attempt to keep him in place. "If you move too much, the needle with fall out and we'll have a literal fountain of blood spewing everywhere— I mean, I assume so, I've never seen anyone lose an IV— and you'll have to go through the pain of getting the needle restabbed— er, reinserted into your arm and—" Yuri broke off when Victor let out a pitiful whine.

"No…" Victor was repeating as he weakly thrashed in Yuri's grip. Yuri only held on harder, feeling like he was fighting a bucking bronco.

"I know, I know, I know," Yuri whispered, tears spilling down his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please calm down! If you don't, they'll have to sedate you!" Yuri pleaded, gripping Victor's hand between both of his own. Victor became entranced by the shimmery rivers that decorated Yuri's cheeks. He continued to stare at Yuri's face and managed to force himself to breath and stop fighting off his friend.

"This is all my fault, and I'm so sorry, but you have to calm down. They'll sedate you if you don't!" Yuri continued to plead. Victor froze at that moment, processing his friend's words. He'd seen what sedation did to people on TV. Patients got loopy, were in and out of lucidity and consciousness, and slurred or forgot every other word. He would hate being sedated. He also hated how sad Yuri was and he hated himself for not being able to stop freaking crying.

"S… sorry… sorry," Victor repeated his friend's words, unable to explain how bad he felt for getting Yuri into this whole situation. Or how bad he felt for crying and whining and generally making Yuri feel guilty. Or how bad he felt that he made Yuri cry.

But this apology didn't help at all— in fact, it did the opposite. Yuri's face seemed to shatter at Victor's apology.

"No, no, don't apologize!" Yuri dropped his face into the hand that he released from its hold on Victor's shoulder. "God, I'm absolute _trash_ at this— okay," Yuri stood up straight and fixed Victor with a no-nonsense look. Victor was a little scared and berated himself for screwing up again.

"You shouldn't be apologizing. If anyone should be apologizing, it'd be me, but apologizing isn't going to help this situation at this moment in this time, so we're going to skip that step, okay?" Victor nodded jerkily, concerned about where this conversation was going.

"We need to calm you down, get that heart rate back to at least a gallop— you're at a flying sprint, right now, Victor. That's not good. A high heartrate can kill you and we don't want that, okay?" Victor nodded again, wishing doctors talked this simply.

"Okay, just telling you to be calm doesn't work— though it really never does, so I don't see why everyone does it… what do you do Victor?" Victor blinked, not following the topic leap and also finding himself a little scared to speak to this Sergeant-like, straightforward version of Yuri.

"I mean, when you're scared or nervous or sad, what do you do? Do you play music and sing at the top of your lungs? Do you eat a lot of ice cream and chocolate? Do you watch cheesy movies?" Yuri clarified. "Wait, those are break up coping mechanisms…" Yuri trailed off, staring at the painting of white flowers above Victor's bed.

Victor tried to think back to a time when he felt crappy enough that he couldn't just push through and get over it. Usually, he didn't have time to be upset because it would distract him from whatever crappy job he was trying to not get fired from that month. Generally, his life and his problems revolved around work. The most emotional he ever got would be over getting fired or not getting the job. And in those instances, he would pick up and move on to the next job.

But there was one time he remembered being swallowed up by grief.

"I take that as a no—" Yuri muttered hesitantly.

"When my mom died…" Victor interrupted abruptly. Yuri made a soft, pained sound.

"The only thing I wanted was to be held," Victor smiled sadly at the memory of his young self in one of those ugly, sticky vinyl chairs, hugging his arms around himself tightly and trying desperately not to cry. He tried to ignore how Yuri covered his mouth as if to keep powerful emotions at bay. Victor powered on before he lost his nerve.

"This… like, really serious lady came to tell me my mom died and… well, she was a little too prickly to ask a hug from. She scared the hell out of me. And the nurses were all bustling around… too busy saving lives and stuff. I didn't want to stop them for something as dumb as a hug." Victor chuckled bitterly, running a hand through his hair. He sniffled, face burning with embarrassment and he watched as Yuri subtly brushed tears from his eyes.

"Everyone in the waiting room had their sick grandma's and injured kids to worry about, or they were there for something happy and I didn't want to ruin that. Like people with their pregnant wives about to have a baby… God, I can't believe I'm telling you this…" Victor felt tears collecting in his eyes and he looked up to the ceiling, blinking hard to get rid of them.

"I was a kid who had just lost his mom and his— I just wanted a hug," Victor said, soft voice cracking. Yuri was silent for a moment, which allowed the sheer "oh my God I just complained to orphan Yuri that my mommy is dead, then proceeded to whine about wanting a hug" mortification to hit him at close range.

Yuri suddenly snapped into action, brushing tears from his face almost angrily. He stepped back up to the bed and began fiddling with the bed remote, making the bed lay all the way back. Victor tried to sit back up, but Yuri pushed him back down. Then Yuri stepped out of his shoes and pulled off his black peacoat, revealing a cozy white sweater that went well with his dark wash jeans.

"Yuri, what are you…" Victor trailed off. Yuri brought the bed's side arm down and awkwardly dragged himself on top of the blankets and sat back on his heels, hands on his hips.

"I know we're not close, Victor Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is, but we are about to share a bed because you need to calm down and being close to someone helps you with that, so we're both going to be mature adults and just lie close without this being weird." Yuri stated boldly.

He sounded sure, but his jaw was a little too tight for him to pass for completely confident and his elbows seemed to shake when Victor looked too closely. Victor said nothing, heart skipping a beat. Then he simply wriggled over, careful to not pull his IV this time.

Yuri gave him a tight-lipped grin and eased himself down beside Victor, who watched him with an expression akin to awe. Anticipation swelled up in Victor's chest, replacing the fear and panic he'd been drowning in moments before. Yuri visibly swallowed hard and wriggled under the thin blankets, hesitantly leaning back against the pillow so head mere centimeters from Victor's.

Victor wasn't breathing. Which was as good a method of calming down as any, he supposed. He kept his eyes on Yuri, who was staring into Victor's eyes with an intensity that should've been extremely uncomfortable. If it hadn't been Yuri, it would've been.

Yuri rolled from his back onto his side to he could face Victor. The two stared at each other for a few moments, breath mingling and arms held close to their chest (in Yuri's case) or awkwardly resting at their sides (in Victor's case).

"Can I hug yo—"

"Yes," Victor interrupted, the word tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Yes." He nodded fervently, making the whole bed rattle and a small smile crawl across Yuri's face.

The pair scooted close, but slowly like they were afraid to spook the other. Yuri slowly wrapped his arms around Victor, so the barista's face was resting against his soft sweater, which Victor found to be cloud-like in both softness and colour. Victor let out a shuddery sigh and relaxed his tense shoulders, leaning further into the warmth of Yuri's sweater. An indescribably feeling swelled up in Victor's chest.

"Yuri?" he whispered tentatively, a hand going up to his face to grip the soft fabric by his cheek.

"Yeah?" Yuri tilted his head to the side, so he could look down at Victor's face.

"Thank you. Thank you," he said honestly, sniffling a little as he looked up at Yuri without moving his head. He felt a hand press against his hair.

"Any time," Yuri whispered, a smile warming his voice.

"You lovebirds need anything?" Both boys started apart at the sudden sound of Toshiya's humour filled voice.

Toshiya was leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed and a falsely stern expression on his face. His eyes twinkled knowingly. Yuri spluttered and turned a brilliant shade of red, ducking to hide his face in Victor's hair. Victor chuckled at the awkward and endearing side of his friend and felt the arms around him tighten.

"Yuri needs a bag." Victor volunteered after Yuri hadn't responded for a while. He remembered Yuri mentioning needing a bag of some of his things, so he could spend the night.

"Yuri needs a bag," Yuri repeated, blushing when he realized he'd repeated Victor word for word, instead of substituting the right pronoun. The vibrations of his voice tickled Victor's cheek comfortingly like the vibrations given off across the floor from a piano being played.

"Can you grab my book off the bedside table, and the moisturizer and the cleanser on the top shelf, farthest left in my vanity? I also my toothbrush and toothpaste, of course…"

Yuri rattled off a few other things he needed and described in vivid detail what outfit he wanted to be brought from his lavish closet. As he listed these items, he continued to pet Victor's hair. That soothing feeling coupled with the melody that was Yuri's voice, Victor felt himself drifting off.

 **AN:**

 **Hope you guys liked this one, feel free to drop a review or a suggestion. See you guys next time!**


	7. Jealousy and Jollification

**AN:**

 **I had to do a bit of research because I don't know like anything about skating or most sports. That sedentary life style is treating me well.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri! On Ice**

 **By the way, this chapter is a little (hella) early because move-in day and orientation that's why. Get me out of singing Kumbaya in a circle while braiding the hair of random people I will probably never speak to again, and I'll get the next chapter early, too.**

 **Chapter 7: Jealousy and Jollification**

"I think you owe me one," Victor said matter-of-factly. He was lying on the upholstered couch in Yuri's living room, staring up at the ceiling with head resting on a crimson decorative pillow.

"How do you figure that?" Yuri asked from the kitchen where he was cleaning up after their iron rich lunch. "If I remember correctly, _I'm_ the one who saved your life."

It was a week after Victor's one-day hospital vacation, and he and Yuri had been attached at the hip ever since. The only times they were apart were bathroom trips and when Victor went back to his apartment at night, leaving Yuri to stress about his friend's safety until he received Victor's "made it home alive".

"But _I'm_ the one who got in an accident while trying to get to _you_ to apologize." Victor shot back with an innocent grin. Yuri glared over his shoulder at Victor as he filled the sink with steaming water.

"If me doing something you ask will get you to shut up about it, I'll do anything." Yuri muttered squeezing dish soap into the sink of hot water. A loud thump came from the living room.

"Really!?" Victor exclaimed, falling off the couch in his excitement. He raced into the kitchen, almost tripping over the fluffy area rug.

"After that reaction, maybe not," Yuri muttered drily. "But yeah, within reason."

"What reasons?" Victor whined, dejectedly as if moral boundaries spoiled his plans.

"Just don't ask me to do anything illegal or immoral, and we'll be fine." Yuri gestured lazily with the knife he was scrubbing.

"Who's definition of immoral?" Victor asked in a sultry voice, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Yuri rolled his eyes and sent another disapproving glare over his shoulder. Prolonged exposure to Victor and his occasionally crude humour had desensitized Yuri, who was no longer affected by scandalous jokes.

"I'm just kidding!" Victor raised his arms in surrender with a grain. His expression slowly became serious and he lowered his hands. "But what I'm going to ask isn't something you'll want to do."

"What?" Yuri asked with a nervous, half smile. "What do you mean?" Victor gave him a long, calculating look.

"You said you owed me, remember?" Yuri nodded at this. "So, you _have_ to do it because it's not illegal _or_ immoral."

"That's surprising," Yuri muttered under his breath. "Just tell me what it is, and I'll do it."

"Yuri, please look at me," Victor said softly after a moment of silence.

Yuri turned around to face the barista with concern, slightly nervous about what he'd just gotten himself into. Victor took the wet dishes from Yuri's sudsy hands and set them in the rack before taking Yuri's hands in his own. Yuri's gaze flitted anxiously around the room and back at Victor.

"Okay, um, are you… feeling okay?" Yuri asked timidly.

"Yuri."

"Yeah?"

"I want you to come to the skating rink with me."

There was a moment of silence in which Yuri honestly thought Victor was kidding. But when that moment progressed into minutes, and Victor continued to stare at Yuri gravely, as if waiting for an explosive reaction, Yuri's hopes walked off the ledge. Victor was being serious.

"You're not kidding," Yuri whispered with something akin to horror. He reeled back, trying to wrestle out of Victor's grasp but found himself shackled by his friend's tight grip.

"You don't have to skate, just come with me!" Victor pleaded. "Just walk in, sit down and watch me skate, okay? That's all you have to do, that's all I want you to do— all I'll _ask_ you to do."

"Victor, please, anything else, anything!" Yuri practically begged, still thrashing in Victor's grip. Victor managed to transfer both of Yuri's wrists into one hand and threw his free arm around Yuri's back. He held Yuri as tightly as he could until the flailing stopped.

"Victor, please," Yuri whispered, voice muffled by the fabric of Victor's shirt. He pressed his face into the soft cotton, sagging into his friend.

"Just sit and watch, that's all I ask. You don't have to skate, I promise I won't make you skate." Victor soothed, rubbing circles into Yuri's back through the soft maroon sweater he wore.

"Just have to sit?" Yuri repeated after a beat. "No skating?"

"No skating." Victor agreed seriously. There was another moment of silence before Victor released Yuri's hands, the newly freed arms latching themselves around the barista's waist.

"I… I think I can. Sit, I mean. But only for a half hour, okay? No longer." Yuri bargained. He knew he was going to regret this. Knew it was some kind of therapy, rehabilitation, "get Yuri to like skating again" thing. But the proud smile Victor gave him… it made it worth it.

"Deal."

* * *

"This was a bad idea," Yuri moaned, gripping Victor's arm tightly. Victor was holding Yuri's hand for moral support, but Yuri ended up latching all the way around the poor guy's arm like a clingy octopus.

"This is a great idea. You can do this," Victor soothed. They managed to get into the building, buy their time on the ice and get over to the seating area that lined the rink before Yuri started getting nervous.

"It's fine, I know— but… I don't know," But Yuri did know. It was the familiar chill and the indescribable but distinctive smell of the ice. It was the lullaby of scraping ice skates and echoing chatter.

Yuri watched as amateur skaters glided in circles, most of the them sticking close to the bright white wall to stay upright. A few brave souls wandered from the wall in unsteady circles around the center, which was occupied only by a petite teenager in a cheetah print sweatshirt and what seemed to be leather pants. The blonde skated quickly, jumping or spinning occasionally and grinning at the applauses he received for his efforts.

"Yuri, it's okay to be nervous, but I'm not asking you to skate, okay? You're just sitting and watching me fall all over the ice like a new born calf trying to walk." Victor comforted with a grin.

Yuri knew what Victor was doing. He was trying to get Yuri's mind off the fact that he was back in a rink, the one place he swore he'd never go again. Trying to get him comfortable with skating again. And deep down…

Yuri _really_ wanted to be comfortable with skating again.

He kept up this bravado— this _front_. And it got more and more dramatic the longer he held it and the closer people came to realizing his secret. The secret that he didn't hate skating. The secret that he _did_ have interest in skating again, that he wasn't _at all_ glad to be off the ice. The secret that he was just too scared to go back out there again.

But, instead of sharing this, he lied. To everyone. Sometimes, to himself.

"I'm going to go get a pair of skates, okay? If you get nervous, just find me. I'm here for you. Everything is going to be okay." Victor said, his glittering silver eyes boring holes into Yuri's red-tinged ones.

"Okay." Yuri whispered, easing down into the stadium style seating, scanning his surroundings with wide eyes.

Yuri had never sat in the viewing section before, so it didn't trigger memories like the sounds of skates and the smell of ice did. He'd always been the one on the ice, so he felt safer on the hard seats. They didn't make his nerves scream, or his breathing quicken, or his heart stop.

Yuri watched Victor's retreating back, eyeing him as he made his way to the rental skates. He observed as Victor spoke to a large man with a short beard who stood behind the counter and found himself smiling a little when the red-faced man laughed jovially at whatever Victor said.

The man disappeared down a row of skates and came back with a pair of off-white skates. Yuri raised his eyebrows. Those were for figure skating. Normally, customers got the standard, bulky recreational skates. Most of them didn't even know to ask for figure skates.

But Victor had requested figure skates.

Victor accepted the skates and dropped them on the bench, peeling off his long parka to reveal plain dark yoga pants and a matching fitted top. Victor handed his jacket and shoes to the man for safe keeping and plopped down on the bench, easily slipping into and lacing up the skates with quick precision.

With increasing anticipation of the good variety, Yuri leaned forward, watching as Victor walked across the padded floor to the rink. The barista pulled on a pair of black gloves, pushed open the rink's low door and visibly took a deep breath before stepping a foot onto the ice, one hand still on the door.

He stepped out with his other foot, continuing to use the door for balance before shutting it behind him. Yuri watched Victor slowly raise his arm from the door and found himself suddenly understanding the "newborn calf" statement from earlier.

Then Victor's body lurched back as his legs flew out from under him. He landed with a loud thud in a heap on the ice, a fall that had Yuri in stitches. Victor looked up at him and smiled sheepishly before looking away to accept the hand up from the young blonde skater that had been showing off in the center of the rink.

Once Victor was back on his feet, the blonde stayed by his side and said something that had Victor grinning. Yuri slouched into his seat and eyed this other male skater closely. He couldn't be more than seventeen years old, fifteen at the youngest. The word "jail bait" flitted through Yuri's mind like a killer whale through the body of a one-man canoe.

Yuri watched as Victor continued to speak to the blonde teenager until the kid nodded and skated away, leaving Victor alone by the wall. Victor gave a thumbs up to Yuri, who returned the gesture shyly, feeling oddly satisfied.

Yuri watched as Victor released the wall and stood on his own two feet for a minute. He was impressed when Victor kicked off suddenly and began making his way around the ice with good speed. This was a far cry from the comically epic fail of an entrance.

Victor strayed farther from the wall, gliding closer to the center of the ice where the blonde spun in lazy circles. Then Victor spun suddenly and began skating backwards. He glanced up to the stands where Yuri sat and gave him a wink before lifting into an effortless double axel, landing easily on one foot with his arms spread gracefully.

A warm, fluttery feeling rose in Yuri's stomach and stole his breath, in a completely different way than the ice rink did. An enthusiastic applause filled the air, and suddenly the blonde kid was trying to get Victor's attention. The kid shouted something that Yuri was 51% sure wasn't English, but Victor understood, if his nod was anything to go by.

Then, this little blonde brat began hopping in circles, using the toe pick of his figure skates to complete multiple, insanely quick Toe Loops in a row. Victor grinned widely at the intricate footwork, giving the kid a slow, appreciative applause, after which the blonde bowed.

Victor held up a finger in the universal "one second" sign and picked up his speed. Then he jerked into the air, body spinning into a simple Lutz before he landed delicately on the ice, barely sending a single crystal shard into the air. The blonde kid smirked and clapped reluctantly.

Then the kid lifted into a perfect, if not slightly crooked, Triple Salchow. Yuri's jaw dropped. Any move with the word "Triple" in it required an insane amount of strength and control to perform. In less words, Triple was Hell. But Victor had a trick up his sleeve.

Victor seemed to have been sucked into the air by a bodiless force when he spun in not three, but _four_ full turns, performing a _flawless Quadruple Flip_. He landed with the grace and softness of a falling feather, the force of the jump making him land so low, his knees almost scraped the ground.

Yuri was bursting with so much pride and breathless exhilaration, it had him leaping out of his seat, bouncing up and down as he joined the deafening cheers of customers and employees alike.

"Holy— What just— How did— Oh my _God_ ," Yuri spluttered. He raced down the stadium seats, his white scarf coming lose from the collar of his short trench coat and smacking him in the face as he sprinted.

Victor skated up to the rink door immediately, eyes not leaving Yuri for a second. Yuri came to a stop at the door and Victor stepped out onto the ice-soaked floor. His face was flushed from the icy air and the adrenaline from his little show, his eyes were wide and sparkling with energy and there were ice crystals melting in his hair.

"Victor that was… incredible! And amazing! And perfect and insane and beautiful and—" Yuri cut himself off with a laugh, throwing his arms around Victor's neck, lost in the euphoria of seeing such a talented, passionate skater for the first time in years.

"It was just a couple jumps…" Victor muttered sheepishly, fiddling absently with the belt of Yuri's coat. Yuri gripped Victor's shoulders, about to go on a tirade that would force Victor to see himself in a better light, but the blonde kid skated up to the door.

"Hey, Victor," the kid said with an accent that sounded strangely… Russian? Victor let go of Yuri immediately, as if burned, and whirled around to face his new friend.

"Yuri!" Victor exclaimed joyfully to the blonde kid. Yuri felt his blood run cold.

What.

Was.

This.

Victor and Discount Mini Russian Brat Yuri babbled in a language that Yuri-Yuri assumed was Russian. Victor sounded excited, used grand hand gestures and his voice pitched with enthusiasm. The kid, on the other hand, seemed smug. Smug and suddenly familiar, now that Yuri could see him up close—

The neighbor! Yuri almost groaned out loud. This was the little brat that showed up at Victor's bedside during the blood transfusion incident. He was the kid who had to be bodily forced out of Victor's room (and still refused to go more than a few feet from Victor's door). Yuri didn't know the kid's history with Victor, but apparently neighbors who speak the same native language in a country where that language was uncommon became fast friends.

Lost in their conversation, the Russian brothers seemed to have forgotten Yuri's existence. Yuri felt a thrill of red hot anger and something he couldn't describe zap through his whole body. He wanted to smash that smug little blonde's face in and drag Victor away from him. He wanted to understand Russian, so he could figure out what had Victor so excited. So that he could have a conversation with Victor in the barista's native tongue. Yuri knew first hand how much more comforting a conversation was if it was spoken in the speakers' first language.

Yuri became increasingly agitated as the conversation dragged on. Nearly half the skaters had cleared the rink and left, the other half busy doing cooldowns, probably planning to leave in a few minutes. Yuri wanted to see Victor fly across the ice one more time before they left, but it looked like the Russian brat wasn't going to let that happen.

"Hey kid," the skate renter called out gruffly. "You waitin' ta' get on the ice? There's another entrance on the other side of the rink." Yuri looked down pointedly at his boot-clad feet and back up to the renter's face. The renter leaned over the counter to see where Yuri was looking and nodded.

"Don' have skates yet, do ya'? Come 'ere, I'll get you sorted. What size sneaker are ya'?" the renter asked kindly, explaining that the sizing for skates was completely different from, but directly related to normal shoe size. Yuri knew this but found himself unable to speak.

Yuri licked his lips. Did he really want to do this?

No way. No way did he want to do this.

But no one here knew him. Just Victor. And that Yuri kid, but barely. Yuri didn't have to pretend here. There was no one to pretend for.

But what if he sucked?

No way. There was no way he could suck. Skating was in his blood. It was like breathing.

And yeah, some people suck at breathing, but Yuri was not one of those people. He was awesome at breathing. So, he'd probably be awesome at skating, too. Yuri frowned at his own logic.

"Kid, what size?" The man asked again, patience clearly threading thing.

"Six and a quarter in Harlicks." Yuri rattled off automatically. He was about to take it back and say he changed his mind, but the guy grinned.

"So many people comin' in for figure skates today, is there an Olympics nearby?" The man laughed. "Six good 'nuff?"

"It'll do." Yuri acknowledged. He stepped up to the counter, feeling a flush of warmth run through him. He remembered doing this as a kid. He wasn't old enough to see over the counter the first time he went to a skating rink. And he had to get help from one of the renters to get his skates laced properly.

"Here ya' are, kid. Ten bucks," the renter said, pulling Yuri out of memory lane.

Yuri rummaged through his pocket and pulled out two fives, handing them to the renter. Then he saw the skates. They were an aged, off-white and had little cracks in the leather. They were lined with age and wear, well-worn with love of the sport. But the most important part, the blades, glistened like they were brand new.

Yuri scooped them up, relishing in the familiar weight and feel of the soft leather against his skin. He plopped down on a bench, heart racing and fingers trembling as he struggled out of his shoes and handed them over to the renter for safe keeping.

Barefoot, trembling and barely breathing, Yuri held the skates in his hands and stared at them like they were the faces of his passed family members. He set one skate down on the rickety bench beside him and crossed one leg over the other. He slipped the foot of the crossed leg into the shoe easily.

He slipped the other skate on and deftly tied the laces and stared down at the skates that were attached to his feet. They were practically foreign objects. Himself wearing skates was an image Yuri thought he'd never see again.

He slipped out of his coat, only thick jeans and a warm sweater protecting him from the cold. He glanced over at Victor and his new, Russian brand of Yuri, watching how cheerful and animated the two became when they were around each other. He felt another surge of irritation and something he couldn't name.

But, somehow, Victor had managed to convince Yuri to go into the rink and stay. Somehow, Victor hoped to get Yuri back on the ice, to _fix_ him, despite… everything.

And it was kind of… working. Yuri wanted to skate.

And he was terrified of the fact. He was sweating buckets and felt moments away from vomiting. He thought he might start crying or stop breathing, too, but he was _there_. That was a step— not a big step, but it was a step. And he wanted to skate. And he was wearing skates. And he was walking towards the other entrance onto the rink. These were steps and they were happening.

 _OhGodohGodohGodohGod…_

Yuri tried to control his breathing as he came up to the rink door. He slowly brought one gloved hand up to rest on the door, his slim fingers shaking inside their white leather cage.

"Am I actually going to do this?" he whispered to himself with disbelief, almost hysterically. He glanced across the sparkling white ice just in time to catch Victor throwing back his head as he laughed warmly at something Russian Yuri said. The duo hadn't even noticed Yuri-Yuri's absence.

"Yeah, I'm doing this," he said voice cracking. He dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, seeing spots in the bright lights. "Dear God, please don't let me fall."

Yuri pushed open the door hesitantly, swallowing down the anxiety that flared up at the familiar sound of the door scraping against the ice. A quick glance up gave him courage when he saw the renter watching him from behind his counter. The bearded man grinned widely and gave him two thumbs up. Yuri grinned back and looked back down at the ice.

Just as Victor had carefully stepped onto the ice, Yuri eased himself slowly onto the slippery surface. And he stood. He just stood on the ice, feeling the soothing coolness radiating off the ice like heat from a fireplace. He reached behind himself and pulled the low door shut quietly.

He gripped the wall weakly and stared down at the ice beneath him. His heartbeat pulsed through his head and he felt a trickle of sweat down his back. He slowly put on foot in front of the other, walking awkwardly across the smooth surface. The blades clicked softly against the hard ice until he eased himself into a gentle glide, the skates carving straight lines into the ice with soft _ksh_ sounds. He grinned timidly at the familiar symphony of skating.

Slowly, he pulled his hand away from the wall. Memories flashed through his mind. The first time he'd ever actually skated, without the use of the wall. His best friend had been at his side, waiting to catch him if he fell. Yuri grinned at the memory and pushed himself faster around the ice, the chilled air rushing around his body bringing him back to another time.

Just for kicks, he jumped lazily into the air. Just a simple flip. The first move he ever learned. Anyone could do it. He found himself timidly emboldened at the successful landing. Adrenaline and anticipation pumping where fear and anxiety once stood stale, he wanted to try again. Which he did. With a Triple Flip.

He landed expertly, if not a little shaky, allowing his fingertips to graze the ice. He straightened up and successfully attempted a Salchow. And then another. And then another. He tried a few Toe Loops and Lutz or two, followed by a Triple Axel. Then he found himself sucked into the addictive gravity defying dance that is skating.

He came to a sudden stop, twisting stomach calmed and urgent need to skate enflamed. He ripped off his gloves and tossed them, so they fell somewhere near his coat, and rolled up his sleeves as he raced down the center of the ice, leapt into a triple salchow and found himself performing his old routine.

As in, the routine he retired seconds after preforming and winning silver for. The routine he hated and was now loving. He was loving weightless feeling that seemed to make the heaviest burden featherlight. He loved the feelings of flight and freedom, and the feeling of possessing the gift to command the winds.

The routine— or perhaps it was more of location and company, than of routine— fed his soul and boosted his confidence. And every time he stuck the landing, he got more powerful, more daring, more _comfortable_. He went faster, preformed stronger, was more precise.

He grinned as the cool air slapped his face, crystal shards stung his skin and his hair flopped into his eyes. He felt himself dancing and moving with the music that his memory played in his mind like an echo of a tune you can think discern in your head but can quite hum the chorus to.

The routine came to a sudden finish, with Yuri stopped in the center of the ice, one leg behind the other, foot pointed on the ground. One arm was close to his body, almost hugging himself, and the other was stretched out as if reaching for something. He held the pose for barely 10 seconds.

Yuri's chest heaved as he gasped for breath. He may run marathons every now and then, but they were nothing compared to a hardcore skating routine. He dropped his hands to his thighs, using them to hold his hunched body up as he gasped for air.

He could practically hear the roaring cheers and thunderous applause from appreciative viewers. He could practically see the roses and other gifts being launched on to the ice by passionate fans. He could practically see the stands full of people, a judges' box where men and women held up big cards with numbers written across them, signifying the points they believed he earned for the routine.

Yuri was startled out of his daydream when those cheers and applauses erupted behind him. In his spinning around to find the source of the clapping and yelling, Yuri sent a wave of ice shards arching over his body. Through the falling glitter, he could see Victor running onto the ice.

Before he could even get out a word, Yuri was slammed backward onto the ice from the impact of an enthusiastic hug he received from Victor. His arms went instinctively around Victor's shoulders to hang on for dear life as he was yanked back up. Victor laughed as he spun Yuri in a circle, allowing Yuri-Yuri to see the renter and Russian Yuri look on with amusement.

"You did it, you did it, you did it!" Victor was babbling in his ear. Yuri felt a warm rush in his chest at the pride beaming in Victor's voice.

When Victor finally stopped their spinning by stabbing his toe pick into the ice and gripping Yuri around the waist to hold him in place, Yuri lowered his forehead to rest against Victor's shoulder. He was exhausted from the emotional and physical work out he'd received. He heard Victor ramble on in a victory-loopy voice, one of the barista's hands running through Yuri's hair. This was all Yuri needed to breathe again.

Eventually the pair skated off the ice and struggled out of their skates. After they handed their skates over and accepted their shoes and coats (and after Yuri chased down his coat and gloves on the other side of the rink) the three realized how far past closing time they'd kept the poor renter, who brushed off their concern.

"S'long as you boys skate that good, you can stay after hours as often as you like," the renter chuckled when three pairs of eyes lit up at his offer.

Yuri's restless mind tentatively offered him yet another memory. It was an image of his child-self a girl with brown hair and a pink coat, and a heavy-set boy all skating past hours in their favourite rink in Japan.

An aching nostalgia swelled in his gut, making his eyes burn. He brushed off the concerned tone of Victor's voice and the wary gaze of Russian Yuri by claiming his eyes always got irritated at ice rinks.

Victor and Yuri walked Russian Yuri to the bus stop, hanging around long enough to make sure the brat got on board without getting kidnapped (not likely) or run over (with the look he kept sending Yuri-Yuri, this was quite likely). Then, they headed down the sidewalk, hunting for a cab.

"Today was really great," Yuri said shyly, looking down at his feet as he walked.

"Today was brilliant and amazing and you were _perfect_ ," the barista said with awe, staring into Yuri's eyes when the younger skate looked up in surprise at his friend's kind words. Yuri blushed self-consciously and looked away.

"I meant, you know, your skating," Yuri clarified clumsily. "I had no idea… you never told me you skated."

"Well, I— wait, you came just to laugh at me while I fell all over the ice, didn't you!" Victor accused.

"Actually, yes," Yuri said drily, earning a gentle shove. Because of Yuri's notorious clumsiness off the ice, the soft push knocked him off balance and sent him right into a streetlamp pole.

Victor stared at Yuri in horror for a moment but ended up gasping through ceaseless guffaws. This was not the soft giggling, or the musical laughter Yuri had witnessed from Victor in public before. This was deep belly-laughter, the kind you hide from most people and covered up with a sweeter kind of laugh. Yuri loved Victor's belly laugh.

"Wow, thanks, Victor," Yuri muttered sarcastically, rubbing the spot on his arm that had hit the pole. He pouted dramatically, gazing up with puppy eyes. Victor's reaction was immediate.

The barista stopped laughing like a switch had been flicked off and looked down at Yuri, once laughing face now clouded over with concern. Yuri added "pouting" and "puppy dog eyes" to his arsenal, which was a fast-growing list of ways Yuri could get specific reactions from Victor.

"Sorry, are you okay?" Victor asked kindly.

"I'm fine," Yuri said with a cheeky grin.

Victor rolled his eyes, realizing he'd been fooled. He threw a comforting arm around Yuri's shoulders, beginning to sing boisterously in Russian. For someone who was never felt safe or comfortable at night, Yuri felt quite secure under the warm weight of his friend's arm.

 **AN:**

 **It happened the moment you were all waiting for it happened are you excited because I'm excited like really _exciteddddd_.**

 **You like? Drop a comment! You no like? Drop a rant! Having a crappy week? Let me know and I'll write a little faster next chapter!**

 **See you on the flip side!**


	8. What's In a Dream?

**AN:**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri! On Ice**

 **This one is a bit shorter, the muses have not been kind to me as of late. Plz send help.**

 **Chapter 8: What's in a dream?**

 _Victor heard laughter. Childish and high pitched, the giggles seemed innocent and untainted by fear or sadness. Victor felt drawn to the sound, like a moth drawn to the heat and brightness of a light._

 _He opened his eyes to find colourful images flickering like the tentative but warm flame of a candle. He saw tall grasses swaying in the breeze, reaching towards the bright blue and cloudless sky. He saw a white farmhouse with huge, open windows and billowy curtains. It had a huge porch and a winding, dirt path that lead from the front steps, over the hill and down into what looked like a town. He saw a tall tree dotted with bright red apples, one branch wrapped in rope that held a fat, round tire at the end. And on the tire swing was a boy._

 _Victor couldn't make out the big picture, but he could see little things, like he was being fed bits of a blown-up image. He saw the dirty, well-worn sneakers of a child of loved to play with reckless abandon. He saw grass-stained jeans of an adventurous and clumsy child. He saw tiny fingers clenched tightly around thick, rough chords that were tied securely around the tire and tree branch. He saw floppy, silvery hair fluffing in the breeze._

 _Victor knew immediately who it was. He'd only ever seen this person's face once, and that was over fifteen years ago. God. Fifteen years. That was a life time ago. But the image had been engrained in Victor's head since that tragic day in the hospital_

 _It was Baby Sasha. It was probably six-year-old Sasha, but it was still Baby Sasha._

 _Victor stopped breathing, stopped blinking, stopped moving. He wanted to remember every last moment of this: the sounds, the smells and most of all, the images. He stared desperately at the bits and pieces of the boy that his mind would allow him to see, willing himself to catch a glimpse of the boy's face._

 _He wanted to see if Sasha had a pointed chin, like himself. He wanted to see if Sasha had a sloped nose, like himself. He wanted to see if Sasha had pale skin, like himself. He wanted to see if Sasha had silvery blue eyes, like himself. Or bright blue ones, like their mother._

 _He wanted Sasha to look like him. He wanted his little brother to be just like him, actually. He wanted to help him pick out his costume for his first competitive figure skating solo. He wanted to teach him how to sing, he wanted to share his taste in music with his brother. He wanted to introduce him to Maka-chin and watch his little brother pet him and coax him into playing fetch._

 _Victor tried to get closer to his brother, but he couldn't move. Frustration and desperation swelled in his chest as he tried harder, straining to the point of being in pain. He just couldn't reach his brother._

 _Suddenly the boy jumped off the swing and took off towards the house. Victor watched him run, relishing and drinking in the sight of his healthy, strong brother who was able to run and laugh and play._

 _The boy raced up the steps of the porch and into the body of a woman, who suddenly appeared on the porch. Her pink housedress fluttered delicately in the breeze and she said something in a gentle voice to the boy who threw his arms around her legs._

 _She laughed loudly and scooped the boy up into surprisingly strong arms. She held Victor's brother on her cocked hip and poked the boy in the stomach until he giggled. She seemed to notice Victor, then, for the first time and waved enthusiastically to him, encouraging him to come closer._

 _Victor recognized her by her laugh. It was his mother. His mother and his baby brother were standing there, mere feet away. And Victor still couldn't move. In his mind, he was thrashing. He was screaming and fighting against whatever bonds tied him to the spot he stood in._

 _In his mind he was running towards his family and scooping them into his arms. He was laying his head on his mother's soft shoulder, feeling her silky hair fall across his face. He was smelling her: fast food restaurant grease, stale morning coffee and the soft cotton of her work uniforms. He was holding his brother, a wiggly, warm little package of perfect._

 _He knew he'd love holding his brother. He'd held babies and small children and animals before and he loved it. He loved children, he loved people, he loved animals, he loved closeness._

 _He wanted that so much. the platonic intimacy of holding his family, the smelling his mother, the carrying his brother. But the more he fought to reach them, the more he lost. He felt like he was losing the image. It was fading, and he was losing details of the people, the house, the tree. He was zooming millions of miles away by the second._

 _The less he could see, the more he panicked and tried to grab onto the image. He reached out with both hands, shouting at his mother and brother, begging for their help. But they continued to smile and wave, as if they couldn't hear him._

Victor lurched upwards like a corpse brought to life, only to lose his balance suddenly and toppled over onto the floor. He gasped for breath, weakly rolling his head side to side against the hard wood floor of Yuri's living room, kicking his legs uselessly in a vain attempt to pull himself up. The coolness of the floor under his cheek grounded him, bringing him back to the present.

Victor gave up on getting his body to cooperate and groaned, rolling onto his side. He could see under the coffee table and, at the odd angle he laid in, he could even see the window on the opposite wall.

It was still pretty dark outside, which he could tell by the faint glow of the sun that teased the tops of the trees near Yuri's window. The room was lit up with an odd blue hue, making reality feel a little off and Yuri's house seem like an enchanted wonderland of glistening doorknobs, linen furniture and striking décor accents.

Sighing, Victor pulled his oddly aching limbs into a sitting position, leaning his back against the couch. He rubbed the back of his head, fluffing the slightly oily strands of hair as he gazed around the room, taking a moment to figure out where he was.

He remembered getting back from the skating excursion. The moment they had stepped foot into Yuri's apartment and let go of said friend, Yuri had gotten uncharacteristically anxious and clingy. He constantly tapped his foot, folded edges of his shirt and chewed his lip. He followed Victor around the house like a lost puppy. The pair spent the rest of the night binge watching Disney movies and eating as much snack food from Yuri's well-stocked kitchen as possible.

Once it had gotten remarkably late, Victor remembered suggesting that it was time for himself to go home, but he'd quickly taken back the idea upon seeing Yuri's sad eyes. He ended up spending the night on Yuri's fancy cream couch, using the decorative pillows and a thick red blanket Yuri had given him for comfort.

Victor scrunched his face. It felt oddly tight and dry. He padded barefoot down the hall towards the kitchen, in search of cups and water. His heels treading on the hem of the baggy, star-print pajama bottoms that had been borrowed from Yuri's surprisingly vast closet. Victor yawned into a closed fist and stepped into the kitchen, which was done in soothing organic hues.

He pulled open one of the bamboo cabinets and carefully selected a white mug that had colourful lettering (which Victor assumed to be Japanese) across its front. He stuck it under the water dispenser of the stainless-steel refrigerator and watched the water ran hypnotically into his mug.

He leaned against the shiny counter and gazed out the window into the backyard which held a small garden. A wooden bench sat under a tall tree that held a rustic birdhouse, the fence was crawling with soft purple lilac vines and a large bird bath was situated amongst a clump of pink and white gardenias. It was quaint, but attractive.

"Victor?" Victor jumped at the sound of his name and turned to see Yuri in the shortest shorts that world has to offer and a huge sweatshirt that covered his hands almost entirely.

Sorry, did I wake you?" Victor asked quietly, feeling the odd urge for silence that early mornings tend to command. He blushed at the soft grin he received from Yuri when he yawned again.

"No, I was up," Yuri responded, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He floated towards the coffee machine and began brewing a pot with droopy arms and sagging eyes. He rummaged through the cupboard and pulled out a squat, round blue mug that had white whiskers painted onto it.

"Why are you up so early? It's like 6:30," Yuri asked, concerned eyes meeting Victor's dark rimmed ones.

"Couldn't sleep," he excused. Yuri saw right through it.

"Nightmares." He concluded as the coffee pot gurgled cheerfully, soothingly behind them.

"No." Victor countered, almost out of habit.

"No?"

"No." Victor sighed, glancing back out the window.

He watched as a sky-blue bird hopped on the bench like a pogo stick, twitching its head to take in its surroundings all at once. It suddenly lifted its wings and took flight like it was nothing to suddenly be free and light with the absence of heavy responsibility, regret or pain. Victor envied that.

"Really good dream. Didn't want to wake up." Victor sighed wearily, sipping from his mug.

Yuri gave him a sad look, scuttling back to the coffee pot when it began singing, demanding attention now that it had successfully finished brewing the pot. Yuri poured his mug half full and traipsed over to the fridge, tugging the skim milk from its spot in the door.

"Are you okay?" He asked casually, filling his mug the rest of the way up with the milk.

"Fine," Victor said quietly, watching with disgust as Yuri added at least four tablespoons of sugar to his mostly-milk coffee

"Wanna share?" Yuri asked, leaning back against the counter next to Victor and sipping from his mug. He made a face and muttered down to his cup, "bitter."

"Not particularly. I mean… it was just a dream," Victor muttered, sounding wistful even to his own ears. Yuri looked him in the eye with a serious yet understanding expression.

"The way you say that makes it sound like it wasn't _just_ a dream," he countered, clearly testing the waters. Victor quirked one corner of his lip up. He couldn't hide anything from this guy anymore.

"It was a dream." He repeated. "In every sense of the word." Yuri stared at him for a moment, clearly not understanding. Then Victor watched as realization visibly sunk into his friend.

"God, Victor…" Yuri whispered, expression and voice sounding equally heartbroken. Victor looked away, tightening his jaw, whishing his mouth knew when to shut up.

Yuri set his mug down on the counter with a soft click, and leaned over to Victor, gently wrestling the mug from Victor's hands to set it down next to his own. He then snagged Victor's cold, dry hands in his warm ones and tugged the barista into a hug.

Victor rested his head on Yuri's shoulder, pressing his face into the soft cotton of his friend's sweatshirt. It smelled like citrus. And peaches. He gripped the sides of the sweatshirt with tight hands, unable to grip Yuri out of fear that he'd hold too tightly and break the smaller man. Yuri wrapped his arms comfortingly around Victor's waist, arching his own back to hold on tighter, closer.

"Come on, let's sit on the couch and you can tell me what happened," Yuri ordered more than suggested. He grabbed their mugs and headed into the living room, Victor trailing closely behind him like a dutiful pet.

The pair plopped on the couch and Yuri threw the discarded red blanket across their laps as they settled in with their water and coffee. They didn't talk yet. Just sat on the comfortable couch, relishing in the company and sipping their drinks silently as the world outside their window began to wake up.

"When I was five, my mom would sometimes drop me off at her friend's house." Victor said suddenly, staring down at his water and tracing the rim of the mug with a slow finger. Yuri didn't respond.

"Her friend— Molly— always babysat for free, so my mom could work weekends. Weekends were the best days and nights to work. She got better pay, longer hours, more generous customers..." Victor trailed off, reciting the words his mother had whispered in his ear when his four-year-old self had asked why his mother why she never wanted to stay home with him on the weekends.

"The house was huge and white, had a million windows and a huge porch and… it was just lovely. It had an apple tree and a tire swing, it was surrounded by fields…" Yuri smiled sadly at Victor's happy memory.

"I would fantasize about buying it, sometimes. Buying it for my mom. Buying it for my brother," Victor sighed heavily, a melancholy smile easing across his sad face.

"You never said you had a brother!" Yuri exclaimed, his face lighting up in a huge, toothy smile. Victor winced, insides secretly warming at the sight of his friend's happy face.

"Had, being the operable term." Victor said, voice barely even a whisper. He watched Yuri's smile melt into something a disbelieving gape. Why do good things never last?

"I would fantasize about pushing my brother on the swing," Victor continued after taking a deep breath. "I imagined my mother coming out onto the porch to say dinner was ready. We'd race to the porch and hug her at the same time and she'd laugh— she had a beautiful laugh, I'll never forget her laugh— and Sasha would climb into her arms and demand that she and I both hold him and… and we'd be perfect." Victor babbled. He looked down with a self-deprecating laugh.

"I named him, you know? My mom had asked for my help with picking a name, but she'd died before she actually named him. So, I named him. It was just a formality then, just a name to scratch into the hospital's records of deceased patients. But it was important to me. And I named him Sasha." Victor said the word softly, as if saying to loud would hurt its precious owner.

"A strong name because he was going to be strong and I was going to teach him how. I'd help him become something great. He would be greater than me or mom. He wouldn't live like he was surviving, like he was us. He would live like he had something to look forward to. Like he had a life worth living, like he had a future worth chasing after. You know?"

Victor shook his head, scoffing at his own sentimentality and wishing the world would just smite him where he sat on the plush sofa in Yuri's living room. He sipped cool water to ease his throat, sore from holding back tears. He used the distraction to keep himself from rattling off with more depressing monologues about his dead family.

"You dreamed about them," Yuri realized. "But it's more than that. You dream about them in the day, too. You're constantly dreaming about being with them." Victor nodded.

"The only thing is… do you dream about getting them back, or…" Yuri swallowed hard. "Or do you dream about going to them. Where they are. Right now." Victor gave him an incredulous look.

"I'm not—" he broke off with a hysterical laugh. "Yuri, I'm not suicidal if that's what you're—"

"That _is_ what I'm suggesting, and don't act like it's ridiculous." Yuri snapped, suddenly looking furious. Victor glared at him. With all the crap he'd survived through on his own, he was actually thoroughly offended that Yuri would suggest…

"I'm not going to _off_ myself—" Victor sneered. Yuri flinched hard at the sharp words thrown so carelessly back in his face.

The pair sat in silence again. This one smothering and painful and full of unease and a powerful suggestion. They seemed to both be waiting for the other one to speak first, and Victor's resolve was cracking.

"I'm not sui—"

"Okay." Yuri said sharply and with finality, his normal light, soft voice heavy and dull. Yuri shifted uncomfortably, tapping his clean nails against the mug held tightly in his fist.

"Yuri, I—"

"Whatever."

The bitter, dismissive tone made something strong and stinging and hot well in Victor's chest, all the way to his face. He felt his cheeks flush and his eyes begin to burn and his vision became watery. He fought the urge to sniffle and subtly whipped his nose onto sleeve by pretending to scratch one side of his face with the opposite hand.

He hated how off he'd felt lately. The outing of his hemophilia secret, the stirring of his family's tragic past, the chronic and disturbing nightmares and vivid dreaming, and the sudden unrest between himself and Yuri had knocked Victor off his access. Lately, the littlest things would set him off.

For example, just the other day, he had been exploring his new town. He was walking down the smooth sidewalk past a park brimming with cheerful children who ran and climbed and played together. A little way down, he had found a park full of flowers and trees where elderly folks slowly ambled down the winding dirt paths..

Upon closer inspection, Victor realized this was a graveyard. Victor was used to graveyards and, for a short period of time, he'd even slept in one and called it home. Expecting to find comfort among the rows of dedication stones that spoke of forgotten stories and even further forgotten lives, Victor had weaseled through the rickety, iron gate that screeched loudly through the respectfully silent graveyard.

He walked up and down the paths, silently mouthing the names and the dates and the sweet phrases that were meant to hold the importance and beauty of an entire life within a few short syllables. And he'd come across one that looked relatively new. Judging by the dates, the person who had died was only nine years old. And Victor found himself crying.

Victor wasn't a crier. He preferred to keep a sunny front, even when he felt stormy or downright defeated inside. And yet he cried probably three times in the past few weeks— make that four. He was steadily losing the battle to not cry in front of angry Yuri.

"Victor are you—"

"No!" Victor shouted wetly, snapping his head to the side so Yuri couldn't see his face.

He tucked his chin so his longy, messy hair would fall like a privacy curtain between his face and Yuri's gaze. Looking out of the corner of his eye and between strands of hair, Victor saw Yuri open his mouth, an exasperated expression on his face.

He watched curiously as Yuri closed his mouth and bit his lip. His shoulders suddenly sagged, and he leaned back into the couch seeming to have lost his energy. His snarling, irritated features slowly melted into what looked like mostly exhaustion.

"Victor, why are you crying?" Yuri finally asked, much to Victor's dismay.

"I'm not crying," Victor huffed, as he felt the tell-tale fiery wetness trickling down his face as he denied his tears.

"Victor, I'm not blind. I can see that you're crying." Yuri said drily, voice still soft. Victor didn't respond and turned his head farther away, practically looking over his shoulder now. He heard Yuri sigh. They fell into another short moment of silence.

"So, you thought about it at some point, then." Victor hated how that wasn't even a question at this point. It was like Yuri knew Victor's entire past and could tell what he was hiding behind smiles and lies.

"No." Victor bit out quickly. Yuri just looked at him sadly.

"How recently?"

"Never," Victor said seriously. "Honestly, never." Yuri gave him a long look before nodding slowly.

"So not recently, then." Victor threw an arm into the air with defeat and stood up, setting his mug on the coffee table. He was about to storm around the staircase behind the couch to find the bathroom where his clothes were so that he could leave when Yuri spoke up again.

"Look, I'm sorry you don't want to talk about these things," Yuri raised his bitter voice. "But you have to. Otherwise, everything you're feeling and hiding will just fester, and you'll lash out, or hurt someone, or hurt yourself." Victor hated how right Yuri sounded. He hated how Yuri sounded like he knew what Victor was going through, what Victor had seen, or done, what he'd lived through.

"I'm fi—"

"Victo—"

"Okay, fine!" Victor was practically shouting now. He swallowed hard, shoulders drooping. "Fine," he said softer. He eased back into the couch, mug firmly back into his grasp.

"What do you want to know?"

 **AN:**

 **Thanks for reading, guys, I know this seemed a little drama-heavy. It's gonna be a bit more dialogue-ish than action from here on out. Don't hold me to that, my ideas tend to run all over the place at times. Like, all the times. My bad.**

 **Let me know what you think!**


	9. A Happy Ending

**AN:**

 **Hurricanes suck.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri! On Ice**

 **So, a little about me, because that's why we're here, obvi: I was evacuated because of the hurricane (for any of you who don't keep up with the news, it was on the east coast of the US. Places were expected to get upwards of like 10 feet of water and 75 mph wind. Those were the worst conditions I heard, there might be people who got worse, though). The lovely thing is that where I live is in a valley between two mountains. I'm not expecting to have a place to go back to and, if there is something to come back to, I'm expecting it to be underwater. City of Atlantis, in modern times, here we come. Excitement.**

 **That being said, I'm still pushing out a chapter for you guys! I just so happen to be making this chapter the end of this story because I will have a _lot_ to do when I get back home. Sorry, guys, I hope you enjoyed this story!**

 **Chapter 9: A Happy Ending**

"Large hot mocha with whipped cream and all the espresso?" silver eyes glinted with humour. The barista leaned over the counter, nose mere inches from Yuri's blushing face.

"Aw, you memorized my coffee order!" Yuri laughed warmly, ducking his head at the soft looks the couple received from customers accustomed to the pair's banter and flirting.

"It helps that you come by every day," Victor murmured casually into a soft kiss.

"Stop flirting and get back to work!" a falsely authoritative voice demanded. The pair split apart to find Sylvia and Roseanne standing shoulder to shoulder in the "employees only" doorway, arms linked.

"Like you two don't find excuses to touch each other every five seconds either," Victor scoffed, as Sylvia self-consciously stepped away from Roseanne, only to be grabbed into a hug that she melted into with a giggle.

Yuri smiled warmly at the couple and turned his attention back to Victor, who was grinning sunnily while taking down a guest's order. He leaned against the counter, marveling at how light and happy Victor had been recently. It was like a month ago hadn't happened.

Yuri felt his own smile droop a bit when his mind brought up images and snippets of conversations from the mentioning of last month. Victor had been spending the night after the best night of Yuri's life (AKA: the life-changing skating adventure that had Yuri on cloud nine for hours) because Yuri felt… weird.

For the whole of his adult life and part of his teenage years, Yuri had been successfully ignoring and firmly denying the existence of his love and talent for skating. Then, basically in the course of a single evening, that entire ritual of denying and pretending had been washed away and replaced with a fiery passion and insatiable desire for skating.

It felt like his whole life was turned on its head and his secrets and barriers were all dropped. He was still making peace with demons that kept him from the ice, but he was working through it. And Victor was a big part of that.

That night that Victor had stayed over was eventful. Victor had a nightmare that was more of a dream he could never achieve and had told Yuri about the death of his little brother and his mother, which both occurred in the same day. He explained his living situations, how he'd always been living paycheck to paycheck and often went without food, warm clothing, a safe place to sleep.

This moment of shared vulnerability had sparked the relationship between the two and, only weeks later, they realized how deeply their affection for the other went. Even now, they were still lost in the moments of early, earnest love and spent almost every day they could together.

"So, how are things?" Sylvia asked sweetly, dropping her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands. "Last I heard, you were suddenly into ice skating, which is a total surprise, by the way, because you never mentioned liking skating to us." She sounded jokingly accusatory.

"Seriously, with the amount of time that you spend falling or running into things in a given day, you'd think you would suck at something like, I don't know, _balancing and dancing on a slippery surface_ ," Roseanne added helpfully. Victor snickered at the look Yuri gave her.

"I'm coaching, now, actually." Yuri said proudly with a shy smile. "Mostly teenagers and young adults, people in their prime. I've only just started, but Victor's neighbor, Yuri, has recommending me to people, so I've been getting more business."

"Oh, yeah, Russian Yuri!" Roseanne exclaimed, snapping her fingers and scrunching her brow together as if concentrating hard on something.

"He's that blonde kid with the permanent scowl, right? Wears animal print, visited Victor in the hospital? Probably secretly in love with our Yuri?" Sylvia listed casually to her girlfriend, who nodded vigorously. Victor stared at them.

"Wait, you think he's in love with me?" Yuri squeaked, face turning pink.

The kid was at least six years younger than Yuri-Yuri, not to mention he was underage as well. Russian Yuri had threatened Yuri-Yuri several times (lots of several times) to not hurt Victor, and on a few accounts had even demanded that Yuri-Yuri stay away from Victor. How did that translate to love?

In his momentary lapse of focus, Yuri missed the irritated eye twitch Victor made while fiddling with the knobs on the row of coffee machines behind him.

"Yeah, he's been skating more often when Yuri is at the rink, he's been practically _obsessed_ with Japanese food—" Sylvia listed on her fingers but was cut off.

"So, he looks up to me as a skater, he likes cultural food… how does that translate into loving me?" Yuri fought. "If anything, he's more of a younger sibling to me. God knows he's as annoying as one." Yuri muttered to himself.

"What? No way!" Sylvia looked like her whole world had just crashed.

"He's clearly got a touch of puppy-love for you, Yuri, you don't know what you're talking about." Roseanne said condescendingly.

"Well, hopefully it's just a sibling love because, last I heard, he was dating one of my old skating friends."

"You've got to be kidding me." Roseanne demanded flatly.

"What!? Who is it!?" Sylvia demanded, banging her hands on the counter for emphasis. A few patrons looked up from their drinks, giving Sylvia concerned or irritated glares at her disruptiveness.

"Okay, okay, just don't break the counter!" Yuri exclaimed, petting the counter's top as if he was soothing an injured or scared animal.

"He's dating Otabek, a long-time skater from Kazakhstan. I don't know much about him, but he's like 18 or 19 and comes from a good family. He's kind of shy and quiet, but when he's with Yuri, he's more talkative. Yuri is less grumpy and obnoxious around him, they bring out the best in each other, I think." Sylvia gushed about the sweetness of the relationship between Otabek and Yuri.

"Doesn't he have a motorcycle?" Roseanne questioned. "I'm 100% sure he has a motorcycle. Think I can convince him to let me give it a whirl? I mean, we're pretty good friends with Yuri, right? He wouldn't mind doing us the favour of letting us drive his motorcycle?"

"His motorcycle is his _child_ ," Yuri said with emphasis. "He built that thing, if not from scratch, then _mostly_ from scratch. There's no way he'd let you— or even Yuri— drive it."

"Motorcycle trumps love," Roseanne said, nodding gravely. "I respect that." Sylvia gave her a strange look.

"Whatever. I still think he likes you." Sylvia said firmly to Yuri. Roseanne rolled her eyes.

"Give it up Sylvie. If you don't stop talking about it, Victor might go all Hulk-Smash on you," she muttered, pushing Silvia towards the eating area of the café and shoving a broom into her hand.

Watching as Sylvia began sweeping up a mess of crumbs under a sunflower-painted chair while Roseanne went back to taking and making orders, Yuri turned to Victor, who didn't look very happy. The barista had handed off the coffee to his other customer with a weak smile and was standing directly behind Yuri with a large, heavily espresso-ed mocha in hand.

"Victor. Are you okay?" Yuri asked cautiously, almost having to wrestle his mocha from his boyfriend's grasp. "Seriously, what's up with you? Are you feeling okay?"

"What— oh, nothing, nothing…" Victor trailed off with a shake of the head and an embarrassed half-grin. He busied his now fidgeting hands with a dishrag that he dragged across the already shining counter top.

"Victor…" Yuri said softly.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just…" Victor faced Yuri directly, a hand frozen in the air like an aborted gesture. "Yuri— er, Russian Yuri, that is— he's going home. Tomorrow." Yuri blinked.

"Home as in…"

"He lives in Russia. He's going back." Yuri didn't know what to feel. His stomach dropped.

He was just getting to like his Russian counter-part. They were finding things that they shared mutual interest in, Russian Yuri was supplying him with clients, the two practiced and came up with new moves and routines all the time on the ice together and they had just gotten in the habit of texting each other daily.

"Was he going to tell us, or…?" Yuri demanded sharply, unable to finish his thought out loud.

"I think the plan was to leave before any of us knew. To leave without having to say good-bye," Victor said softly. "I think his goal of coming here wasn't met. I think he doesn't really know what he's doing anymore." He chuckled to himself and glanced down at his hands, which he was drying on a towel.

"What's so funny? This is ridiculously _un_ funny." Yuri snapped, angrily sipping from his coffee.

"Sorry, it's just… he and I hit it off because of our mother country. We were like brothers from the start because of our language, our culture, our troubles fitting in here." Yuri nodded slowly, wondering where this was going.

"At that time, you hated him. I saw that and had mentioned how it upset me. You tried to make friends with him and now that you two are close, I'm the one thinking upset whose irritated by him. Thinking that he's trying to take you from me. And _you're_ the one who's happy to have a brother in him." Victor shook his head at how their positions swapped places.

"Wait, you think he's trying to get with me?" Yuri asked incredulously. "You do realize he's underage _and_ he has a boyfriend, right?" Victor laughed bitterly.

"I know, I know. It's ridiculous…" Yuri shook his head at that and circled the counter, coming to a stop next to Victor. He grabbed the barista's hands into his own and forced Victor to look him in the eye.

"What we have is new. It's young and it's beautiful, but it's still uncertain. It's still tentative. Don't worry, we'll get there. We just have to trust each other." Victor nodded.

"I've never done this," Victor whispered, a hysterical smile twitching up the corners of his lips. Yuri squeezed his hands.

"I know. And neither have I. But you gotta trust me, Victor." Yuri then smiled like he was holding back a laugh. "I'm not going to run off into the sunset with a Russian teenager who's six years by junior and already in a relationship." Victor grinned at this, nodding assuredly.

"I believe you."

 **AN:**

 **Thanks for reading, loves, let me know what you thought!**


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